


Souls, Love, Classic Movies, and Other Immortal Things

by WanderingAlice



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Past Character Death, Reincarnation, Soulbonding (sort of), Steve Needs a Hug, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 06:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5195039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James "Bucky" Barnes died that day on the train back in 1945. Steve knows this, because he found his body. So why, seventy years later, is he presented with a bodyguard that looks and acts exactly like his dead best friend? A bodyguard who just happens to be named James Barnes?  </p>
<p>Bucky Barnes is assigned guard duty to a man whose identity he's not supposed to know. The thing is, this man looks exactly like Captain America. To make matters worse, he keeps having these <i>dreams</i> about him, dreams that are more like memories. Combine that with his childhood claim that he used to be called Bucky and "died in the war," well, things are seeming really odd.</p>
<p>What the hell is going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Big Bang entry, and I had a lot of fun writing it, as stressful as it was. I owe quite a lot of thanks to my beta, Sourdough_Pup, who kept me from going nuts these past few days, and to my wonderful artist, HopelesslyDevotedGeek (wuzzy90). Please, please, please check out their work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5198402). It's super amazing!
> 
> You can find other awesome works from this year's Marvel Bang in the collection, as well as [ here](http://marvel-bang.livejournal.com/) on the Livejournal community.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as wanderingalicewrites.
> 
> (Artist information to be added later today as their posts go up).

It was cold. Freezing. The icy wind whipped at his face, tugging his jacket away from his body. Snow was falling all around him, sticking in thick clumps to his hair and eyelashes, but he barely noticed. It had been cold that day too, the harsh wind nearly ripping him from the train. He’d been chilled to the bone when he climbed down into the ravine, fingers numb even through his gloves. He’d welcomed the cold then, even as he welcomed it now. Something else to feel besides the pain of his heart shattering into a million pieces. They’d told him not to come, that someone else would find the body, but he owed it to Bucky to bring him home.

What he’d found at the bottom of that ravine… it wasn’t something he would ever forget. The image was seared into his mind, haunting his dreams. He saw it behind his eyes every night before he fell asleep.  Red blood on the white snow, pooled around the broken body of the man who had been his entire world.

“Bucky…” Steve knelt in the snow before his headstone. “Hey pal. It’s been a while. Things have been pretty crazy.” There wasn’t a reply, but it had been over seventy years since he had expected one. He sighed.

“I miss you, Buck. More than anything.” His head dipped down almost of its own volition to rest against the stone. He didn’t say any more, but he didn’t have to. There never was any need for words between them, Bucky had always known what he was thinking. They’d been two halves of a whole and without his other half he would always be a little lost.

This time, this one day every year, it was the only time he was ever at peace. His annual pilgrimage to the site of Bucky’s death - and his grave. At all other times he played his part, acted the hero, when at heart all he wanted was to be here, in the last place he was with Bucky. Oh, it wasn’t that he was _alone_ , per se. No, he had companions, teammates, friends even. But he didn’t let them in, the way he’d always let in Bucky. All his defenses had been shattered by those beautiful blue eyes, and when he’d rebuilt them, they’d come to include a door only Bucky could get through. With Bucky gone, no one could punch through to his core. He wouldn’t let them. He couldn’t risk losing someone else, finding another broken body at the bottom of a ravine, burying another friend. Every year, he traveled overseas to visit Bucky’s grave. He couldn’t take another yearly pilgrimage to stand before another dead friend’s bones.

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, but the sun was going down by the time he stood up. He never heard the gun go off, but he felt the bullet as it entered his skull. And then he was down, red blood on the white snow.

 

_Steve_ _’s signing autographs in the mess hall. Just… standing there, surrounded by people, with that sort of incredulous smile on his face as the guys he rescued line up to get him to sign something, anything, to show their girl back home. If it weren’t for that smile, Bucky still wouldn’t believe it was him. He’s… well. He’s everything he wanted to be, tall, strong, the perfect soldier. He looks like a walking dream. But that’s only at first glance. At heart, he’s still his goofball of a best friend, that tiny little terrier that wouldn’t back down from a fight. It’s that smile that reminds Bucky of that._

_Steve glances over at him and extracts himself from his legion of admirers, pushing through the swarm of soldiers to come sit at Bucky_ _’s side._

_“Hey Buck,” and there’s the other smile, the one that’s liquid sunshine. Nobody but Bucky gets that smile, it’s been his since they were kids, and that’s never gonna change. It’s a relief to see it, he’d been so afraid it was gone for good. “You heard about the movie Friday night? I was thinking we could go, maybe-”_

“Barnes!” Bucky jumped, then slumped down in relief when he realized it was just his bunkmate. “Dude, having one of those dreams again? The ones where you’re Captain America’s best friend?”

“Screw you.” The whole unit wouldn’t let up on that, ever since they heard him wake screaming about Hydra. Jerks. He loved them like his brothers, but still. Jerks.

“I hear you got a new assignment.”

“Yeah, yeah, gloat all you want, loser,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “But guess what, I’ve got a nice cushy protection detail, and what’re you doing? You’re stuck here on base, running errands for the boss.”

“At least it ain’t punishment for screwing the general’s kid,” his asshole of a bunkmate pointed out.

Bucky groaned. “Okay, first off, it was twins. Second, how was I supposed to know they were the general’s kids? They look nothing like him!”

His bunkmate whistled. “Wait, wait, both of them? At once? Hoo-boy! Y’know, I’d wondered why they let him put you on make-work. But _both_ his kids? At once? No wonder the general’s so mad at you.”

“Heh. Understatement of the year.” Being on the general’s shit-list sucked. He’d been running crap assignments for the past two months, and this was the latest in a long string of them. Protecting some self-important asshole who came home from war and thought the world was out to get him. Joy. Not that he’d be admitting that to his bunkmate, or anyone else for that matter. The minute he admitted it was getting to him, they won. And he was not letting them win. So he was going to accept his shit assignments with a smile on his face, dammit. Best damn sniper in the US Army. And they had him sitting protection detail. Great. Just great.

“Well, good luck. LT sent me downstairs to get you. Papers are in, man. Time to hit the road.”

“Great. Well, see ya in a few months, then.” Bucky slung his bag over his shoulder and went to pick up his orders. Seventy-two hours later, he was standing outside a two-story house in the suburbs of DC.

 

He spotted two guns trained on him from the moment he stepped over the sidewalk, one from the house on either side, and whistled. This guy merited some _serious_ protection. No wonder they were bringing him in. A guy in a suit opened the door and glared at him until he flashed his badge and handed over a copy of his orders. That was when he noticed the gun a second suit had been holding on him, which was unobtrusively put away at the first suit’s nod.

“Sergeant Barnes. We’ve been expecting you.” He turned his head to see a pretty brunette walking down the stairs with a gun strapped to her waist. “Agent Maria Hill,” she said, giving his hand a brief but powerful shake. “Please, come this way, there are a few things we need to take care of before you take over.”

‘A few things’ turned into a boatload of paperwork, including a confidentiality agreement that made _War and Peace_ look like light reading. Bucky signed it after barely skimming the thing- after all, nobody read all the small text any more. Agent Hill gave him a raised eyebrow when he handed it back too quickly, but said nothing. When all the paperwork was done, she leaned forward and looked him in the eyes.

“Alright,” she said. “What do you know about Captain Steve Smith?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not much. My LT said he just got back from the war, and you people think some terrorist is out to get him.”

Agent Hill nodded. “Good. That’s how it’s going to stay. Nobody knows he’s here, and the fewer people find out, the better. All you need to know is that he’s in danger from a _very_ high-level terror group. If we think you need to know something else, we’ll tell you. Your job is to keep him alive. If they somehow find out he’s here and attack, we expect you to do whatever necessary. We’ve heard good things about you, Sergeant. Don’t prove them wrong.”

“Right. Okay. So this is one of your SHIELD goo- uh, agents, then?” Bucky corrected himself mid-word. It probably wasn’t the best idea to start things off by calling the guy a goon. Just his luck. The guy probably wasn’t even a captain. “And you don’t have your guys protecting him, why?”

The agent’s glare could peel paint. “Our best are all out in the field working on taking these guys down. You happen to come highly recommended as _better_ than some of our best. Or am I mistaken?”

“Nope, nope, not mistaken.” Bucky let her have his cockiest smile. “I’m the best in the business. Just curious as to why you’d need me, seeing as how you’ve got the Avengers and all under your thumb.”

Agent Hill snorted. “I suppose you’ve heard of Hydra? And the clusterfuck that was last year?”

Yeah, he’d heard. He’d been glued to his phone for the majority of that week when Captain America was on the run from SHIELD because he just couldn’t believe the guy had gone bad. Then he’d seen footage from DC, and suddenly SHIELD was burning to the ground and Natasha Romanov was on every news channel exposing their dirty secrets. And those dirty secrets included being a front for Hydra. A front that was subsequently destroyed, and SHIELD rebuilt, by Captain America and the Avengers. Bucky may or may not have collected all the magazines that ran the story. And he may or may not have cut out all the pictures of Captain America and kept them in a scrapbook. Maybe. But he wasn’t telling anybody. There was just something about the man that… _called_ to Bucky. And it wasn’t just the weird dreams. It was everything about the man, from his self-conscious smile in front of the press to the way he was just so protective of his team. It felt like… well, the idea was fucking crazy, but it felt like he’d known Steve Rogers in another life. Like… like maybe he’d _loved_ him in another life. And seeing him in danger, seeing him hunted by the people he was supposed to work for? That had almost been enough to send Bucky to DC on his own, never mind that he’d been on assignment in the Middle East.

“Right, I see by your face that you did. So maybe you understand why we need to call in some outside help.” The agent managed to convey complete annoyance with the lift of one eyebrow.  It was an impressive skill.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Too many bad guys, too few super-spies. So. Anything special I need to know about Captain Smith?”

The agent’s expression softened to something almost gentle. “Be careful with him, alright? He’s been through hell.”

 

They went upstairs to meet the captain, only after Bucky’s weapons were thoroughly checked and vetted by a team of agents. The process took a while- he’d brought most of his arsenal, since he hadn’t been sure what he’d need. He was pretty sure Agent Hill was even impressed at some of his guns, and his metal arm got a whistle out of the handsome agent who checked it out.

Bucky winked at the guy and wiggled his fingers, drawing a smile from the guy which was absolutely adorable.

“Alright, you two, that’s enough.” Agent Hill stepped between them. “Is he clear?”

“Um, y-yes, ma’am,” the agent said. “All clear.”

“Good. Barnes, come with me. You,” she pointed at the other agent, “stay.”

Bucky followed Agent Hill up the stairs and down the hall to the master bedroom, where yet another agent was standing guard.

“How is he?” Agent Hill asked, and the girl shrugged.

“The same. Keeps asking when he’s allowed to get out of bed.”

Agent Hill laughed. “Keep giving him the same answer. Only when the doctor says.”

“You know if the doctor doesn’t say so soon, he’s gonna get up anyway.”

“And then we’ll just have our boy here put his ass back down,” Agent Hill said, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “He’s here to keep him safe, after all.”

“Wait,” Bucky stopped, frowning at the agent. “How badly injured is he?”

“He took a bullet to the face several weeks ago, among other injuries. The doctors say he should be fine, but it will take him a while to heal.”

“So that’s why all the security.” Things were making a little bit more sense. If he was heavily injured, the captain would be unable to protect himself- thus the extra emphasis placed on protecting his identity.

“That’s why.” Agent Hill knocked on the door and then cracked it open. “Steve? You up?”

The light was on, and Bucky peeked past her to see inside. It was a nice bedroom, if a little sparse on decoration- there was a bed and a dresser, and that was about it, besides the blackout curtains on the windows. Sitting on the bed was possibly the largest man Bucky had ever seen outside of a TV. He was dressed in soft pajama pants and a t-shirt that clung to his chest, revealing the lines of several bandages on his midsection. More bandages were wrapped around his right arm, and covering the right side of his face. He looked up when Agent Hill entered, putting aside a book he’d been reading. Bucky glanced at the title- Obama’s _The Audacity of Hope_. Great, the guy read political books. He was gonna be fun to talk to. Or, y’know, not. Because politics bored Bucky silly. Maybe there would be something else they could talk about, but Bucky didn’t hold out much hope. He’d never met anyone above lieutenant that hadn’t had all the fun in them wrung out and replaced with duty and the job.

“Maria,” the captain smiled, or tried to with half his face held down with bandages and tape. “Am I allowed out of bed yet?”

Agent Hill and the agent at the door shared an exasperated eye roll. “No, Steve. Not until the doc says so. Which won’t be for a few more days _at least_.”

The captain pouted. Bucky was sure that, when both his eyes were uncovered, the look would be very effective. As it was, the bandages rather ruined it. “Aw, c’mon, Maria. I’ve had worse, and you know it.”

“And the last time you got out of bed before the doctor said you were ready, what happened? Oh, right, you don’t remember, because you passed out and hit your head. Don’t make me call you-know-who to come in here and make you stay put.”

“Right, because I need another babysitter,” the captain rolled his eyes. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know.” Agent Hill moved further into the room, beckoning Bucky after her. “But you’re a high-level target. It would be remiss of us to not give you the best protection. I’m not going to answer to the Director about how we let you get killed. So I got you a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard? Maria, I-” the captain broke off as Bucky stepped into the room, his one visible eye going wide. “You’re…”

“Sergeant James Barnes, formerly of the 107th, now Spec Ops on loan to SHIELD. They tell me you made some enemies, sir.” He couldn’t help but stare at the guy. Even with half his face covered, it felt like he should know him. But that was impossible. He’d remember having met somebody with a body like _that_. Actually, he looked a lot like Captain America, but that wasn’t possible. The media would be having a field day if one of the Avengers had been this badly injured, and Steve Rogers was currently on the other side of the world, if the SHIELD reports were to be believed. (No, Bucky _did not_ hack the SHIELD database to get info on Captain America. Anybody who tells you otherwise is lying.)

“Sergeant… Barnes, you said?” The captain looked a little dazed, but that was probably to be expected with a major head wound. He held out a shaky hand, and Bucky came close to shake it. “It’s… good to meet you. I’m Steve Ro- Smith. Captain Steve Smith.”

The captain’s handshake was firm and warm. Bucky found himself holding it a little too long, but the captain didn’t seem to notice. Agent Hill was watching them with a smirk, though, which was vaguely unsettling.

“Barnes here is going to take good care of you. And if I hear of even _one_ escape attempt, I’ll pull Wanda off the hunt for your shooter and have her make you see dancing unicorns until the doctor says you can get up. Barnes reports directly to me, and he _will_ tell me everything. Won’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky said, rather intimidated by the predatory look in her eyes. “Anything happens, you’ll be the first to hear.”

“Good man.” She turned back to the captain. “We’re pulling out now, since intel says there’s no immediate threat. Nobody knows you’re here but the agents in this house, and we’ll keep them under watch just in case any of them decide now is the time to turn traitor. You’ll still have the automated security system, and of course Sergeant Barnes. I’ll check in periodically, and alert you if there are any developments.” She stopped then, and looked vaguely guilty. “I’d leave you more agents, but having anybody that can be recognized as SHIELD around here is a clear tip towards your location. We know they have files on all our current people, thanks to Agent Romanov’s info-dump, which means even the people we trust can be spotted.”

The captain shrugged, then winced when the motion pulled at one of his wounds. “It’s fine, Maria. You know I can protect myself. We’ll be fine.”

“Steve…” the agent sighed. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’d just feel better if we called in-”

“No.” The captain’s tone was final. “You know they’re of better use where they are.”

“Right. Okay. Then, Barnes, I leave him to you. Steve… get better soon.”

“I always do,” Captain Smith told her. “Tell everyone thanks, and don’t let the recruits slack off while I’m gone.”

“Yes sir,” she said, giving him a cheeky salute, and then she was gone.

 

After the agent departed, Bucky and the captain looked at each other. The other man looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. His one visible eye was trained on Bucky’s face, with an expression the soldier couldn’t read. He decided it had to be annoyance, since that was what he would have been feeling in a similar situation. With a sigh, he flopped down onto the room’s sole chair, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence. He asked the first question that popped into his head.

“Right, so, I don’t suppose _you_ can tell me who the heck wants you dead. Uh, sir.”

The captain blinked and shifted, shaking his head as if to clear it. “No can do. They haven’t even told me.”

Bucky shrugged. “Figures. SHIELD. So secretive they can’t find their own asses ‘cause they hid them too well.”

The captain startled, then laughed, which quickly turned into a grimace of pain. “Hah- oh, ow. Ow. Oh, that hurt.” He settled back into his pillows, still chuckling despite the pain.

“… Sorry?” Bucky ventured, unsure if he should apologize. The captain laughed again, and then winced.

“No, no, don’t be. I haven’t laughed that hard in… well, a long time. It’s just, you got it exactly right. SHIELD’s secrecy came back to bite it, big time, and they still haven’t learned their lesson.”

“So, I take it you aren’t SHIELD?” Bucky asked, and the captain nodded.

“No. I just work with them. My… unit is rather unconventional.”

“You really are army, then?” Bucky wanted to know.

“Yeah,” the captain nodded. “You too?”

“Yeah. Spec-ops, mostly. I suppose you could say my unit is ‘unconventional’ as well. We spent the last couple years in and out of war zones, working on special targets. I’ve been to practically every country in the Middle East, and a fair few they wouldn’t even tell us where we were. A buddy of mine hacked the GPS once and we were flying over Southeast Asia. Not sure where we ended up, though. We were in the air for a long time.” That had been an interesting mission. Recon, mostly, and he still didn’t know what their reports had been used for. He probably wouldn’t ever know, which bothered him more than he let on.

“You’re the team that took down that Hydra base in Kabul, aren’t you?” Captain Smith asked with some surprise.

“Sure am,” Bucky agreed. “That place was a mess. We almost didn’t make it out.”

“It was impressive work,” the captain said, and Bucky glowed. “I’ve seen the footage. Not many people could have done what your team did.”

Bucky shrugged, trying to downplay it while privately savoring the praise. It was always nice to be appreciated. “Nah, we were just doing what we had to to survive. Anybody would have done the same.”

“And probably died,” the captain pointed out.

Bucky shrugged again, then remembered his manners. This was a commanding officer, after all, even if he was currently confined to a bed in his pajamas. “Thank you, sir,” he said, though it sounded a bit forced. Captain Smith frowned at him, and Bucky scrambled to sit straighter. Great. He’d probably just offended the guy. But the captain gave a small shake of his head and smiled at Bucky.

“Let’s dispense with the formalities. It’ll be less awkward, since you’re probably going to be stuck here a while. I’m Steve.”

“Bucky,” Bucky said, and the captain’s eye went wide, and he sucked in a breath looking like he’d been slapped. His expression relaxed so quickly Bucky thought he’d imagined it. The confusion in his gaze stayed, though, and Bucky shifted, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. “It’s what my sister used to call me, when we were kids. Everybody says ‘James’ doesn’t really fit me, so Bucky it is.” He wasn’t going to tell this stranger that the reason his sister called him Bucky was because he’d once told her that had been his name in his past life. Even his squadmates didn’t know that, and they weren’t going to. He already got enough grief as it was, what with the nightmares and all. The story was an odd one, and most people would probably lock him away if they heard it, especially if he told them that sometimes he even half believed it.

He’d been about three at the time, and his sister, she said, had found him in the bathroom, talking to the mirror. When she had asked him who he was talking to, he had pointed to his reflection and said something like ‘The other me. His name is Bucky.’ When she’d asked him to clarify, he’d mentioned that this Bucky had died ‘in the war,’ and that he said he was meant to watch out for somebody named Steve. His sister had laughed and pulled him away from the mirror, but she’d started calling him Bucky after that. He remembered having that imaginary friend in the mirror, the “other Bucky,” someone who looked like him but older, up until he was maybe ten years old and didn’t believe in such things any more. Sometimes, though, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, the reflection he saw in the mirror didn’t exactly match. Again, not that he’d ever admit it. He didn’t want to end up in a padded room someplace just because of an overactive imagination.

“Oh. That’s… I see.” There was something strange in the captain’s tone of voice when he spoke, bringing Bucky’s thoughts back to the present. The way the man was looking at him was more than a little disturbing, that one bright eye focused so clearly on his face. When no further conversation seemed forthcoming, he turned his eyes to the rest of the room to avoid that silent gaze. Three possible exits- the door, and the two windows. The blackout curtains were drawn tight, admitting no light from the outside, but when Bucky went to examine them he found that they looked out over the flat lawn. One tree was close to the windows, providing a possible perch for an enemy sniper. The fence around the yard was high, it would take some effort- or a ladder- to climb over, and with a little searching Bucky saw proximity sensors placed around the perimeter. They were, Agent Hill had told him, connected to the small tablet she had handed him, which would alert him and SHIELD of any intruder. The whole place was wired with them, and Bucky was willing to bet there were other defensive measures in place that they hadn’t told him about. Whoever this guy was, he was clearly important to somebody. Bucky turned from the window and went to examine the rest of the room, noting that while the captain had return to his book, he had not relaxed and slight shifts of his head told Bucky he was tracking his movements. Bucky supposed that anybody would feel threatened in the captain’s situation and decided to ignore it. The man would calm down eventually.

 

Steve didn’t know how to feel about the sergeant. The man - he refused to think of him as Bucky or even Sergeant Barnes - was the spitting image of _his_ Bucky. Even his mannerisms were the same, and the way he grinned when praised was enough to take the breath from Steve’s lungs. It was highly disturbing, and watching him move about the room with the same catlike grace his Bucky had always had was tearing at the raw place in his soul where his heart used to be. It had to be some sort of trick. Maybe the man was a Hydra agent, or perhaps a trick dreamed up by whoever was targeting him now. It was odd that such a thing had gotten past Agent Hill, but he supposed there was always the possibility that the sergeant’s records were genuine. He could have been planted in the military ages ago, waiting for just such a chance as this. Or she could have been fooled by Hydra agents that had stayed with the remnants of SHIELD, or one of a million other possibilities. The only thing Steve could be certain of was that he couldn’t let his guard down around the man.

He didn’t know what his enemies thought to gain, sending him someone so much like Bucky. They couldn’t possibly believe he would be fooled, not when it was common knowledge that he’d been the one to find Bucky’s body that day back in 1945. That memory would always haunt him. And the fact that his enemies thought to use the memory of Bucky like this… it infuriated him.

“You alright there, sir?” the man (agent? Hydra operative?) asked, and Steve became aware that he was clenching his fists so hard they were vibrating. With an effort, he forced himself to relax.

“It’s nothing. Just pain,” he said, bringing a hand up to the fast-healing bullet wound in his skull. He’d been lucky, it had penetrated just below his eye socket and passed through his cheekbone, doing a lot of damage but nothing that the serum and some good doctors couldn’t fix. If he hadn’t stood when he did, it would have taken him in the brain.

“Do you have any pills?” the man asked, and Steve picked up the bottle of extra-strength painkillers. Each one had enough medicine to knock out a horse, and it barely took the edge off. Still, he’d been in worse pain before. Compared to the transformation, this was nothing.

“Need water or anything?” the sergeant asked. Steve started to shake his head then stopped when pain lanced through his skull.

“No, I took some right before you got here. They should be kicking in any second.” That was a lie. He hated taking medicine unless he couldn’t avoid it, and would only give in to the worst pain, but he wanted this impostor to think his thinking was impaired by the drugs.

“Well, uh, good.” The man paced to the other side of the room, sticking his head into the closet and then the small bathroom, exploring every nook and cranny the way Bucky always did when they ended up in a new place for the night. Whoever had trained this guy had done their research, but even reading all the books that had been published about Bucky over the years wouldn’t tell you everything. This guy would slip up eventually, and then Steve would know what he was dealing with. He would just have to be patient until then.

The man came back to sit in the chair next to his bed and looked over the pile of books on the nightstand with obvious distaste. Steve fought to keep his face clear as pain washed over him. Bucky had used that exact same expression whenever he caught Steve reading something other than sci-fi, and he’d had a very special dislike of political books and biographies. He’d always used to say-

“I dunno why people read this stuff. The world is fucked up enough without reading about it on your downtime too.” That. He’d always used to say that, in exactly that same tone of voice. Not that anybody in this day and age knew that, the biographers hadn’t had much use for knowing what Bucky Barnes liked to read in his spare time.

“What?” the agent asked, and Steve realized he must have let some of his emotions leak onto his face.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just, a friend of mine used to say exactly the same thing.”

“Used to?” the agent asked, and Steve closed his eyes.

“He’s dead,” he told the man shortly.

“I’m sorry,” the agent said, and the remorse in his voice seemed genuine. “It sucks to lose a friend. Was he in your unit?”

“Yeah,” Steve turned his face so his uncovered eye could watch the agent in the mirror. “Yeah, he was.”

“Did he… did he die in the attack?” the agent asked, gesturing to Steve’s bandages.

“No. It was… years ago now.” Steve let his eyes close as the pain of that memory washed over him.

“I’m sorry,” the agent repeated. “I know it’s not easy.”

Now here was something that differed from the appearance of Bucky. Steve’s Bucky hadn’t ever lost a friend in battle, not even when his unit had been captured by Hydra. He hadn’t known what it was like to see a loved one fall before his eyes. But this agent, this agent had lost people. The mission in Kabul Steve had heard about had had three casualties, and he’d heard it had been a close-knit unit.

“Who did you lose?” Steve asked, curious to see what the agent would say.

The agent sighed, lines of sadness crossing his face. “It was before that mission in Kabul. We were somewhere in the Middle East, during the height of the Arab Spring. Five of us. Me, our tech specialist, a weapons expert, our infiltrator, and Samantha. She was… she was our communications specialist. We were there to liberate some weaponry that had been stolen by some extremists. Simple mission, or it should have been. Sammy stayed back with the jet, running comms and linking us back to command. I thought she was safe there. The rest of us walked into a trap.

“It was a hell of a thing, turned out the extremists had been a front for an organized terrorist group with ties to just about every major player out there. Things got messy, fast. I managed to get a signal out to Sammy, told her to go get backup. She didn’t. She came in on her own instead, trying to imitate that SHIELD agent they call The Cavalry. She made it ten steps into the building.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and meant it. The pain in the agent’s face was not feigned.

“Me too.” The agent said. “But… while they were distracted, our infiltrator managed to get free and we were able to fight our way out. We even got the tech we’d been sent to retrieve. Sammy died so we could finish our mission. She got a posthumous promotion and a commendation. Medal of Honor. The whole thing. Her sister accepted the awards.” He was wearing a faraway look, as if staring through time back to that day, and Steve felt guilty for bringing it up.

“Were you…?” he asked, unsure of how to tactfully complete the question. The agent seemed to figure out what he meant anyway, and shrugged.

“We kept each other warm on cold nights, but we didn’t have much time for anything else.” The agent smiled wistfully. “It wouldn’t ever have amounted to anything though, even if she had lived. She needed somebody that needed her, and I didn’t, at least, not in that way. No, we were just really good friends. We used to sit outside the commissary on base and watch the people come and go.” He laughed. “I remember, we had this game, where she’d rate somebody 1-10 and I’d have to guess who it was. She always got so mad when I guessed right each time, kept promising that one time she’d trip me up.”

“She sounds like she was a good friend,” Steve said, for lack of anything else to say. The agent nodded.

“She was. What about you? What happened with your friend?”

Steve sighed and sank down into his pillows. “We were… we were sent to capture an enemy scientist. He and I got cornered. I was disarmed, and he took a blow meant for me. He… didn’t make it.”

“Oh. Sorry,” the agent said, and dropped the topic. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Steve looked over to see the agent scrutinizing him closely and frowned.

“Hmm?” the agent asked, distracted.

“Something on my face?” Steve asked. The agent shook his head.

“No, no, it’s just, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve met you somewhere. You sure we don’t know each other?” he asked, and while Steve wasn’t the best at detecting lies -he needed Natasha for that- the confusion in the man’s voice seemed genuine. Steve really wasn’t sure what to make of that. Sleep was pulling at him, the pain in his wounds calling for attention and daring him to seek the relief of oblivion, if only for a few hours, but he didn’t dare sleep with the agent in the room until he figured out what was going on. Instead he reached for the remote to the small tv Agent Hill had dragged in for him.

“I don’t think so,” he said, calling up Netflix. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

“Maybe…” the agent didn’t sound convinced.

“You good with old movies?” Steve flipped through his que, all old movies Sam had recommended for him that he’d been meaning to watch. “I have this friend that gave me a list of things he says I need to see.”

“Sure,” the agent said. “Just not _The Birds_. That thing gave me nightmares for like a month when I was a kid.”

Steve laughed and made a selection. They sat through three films before Steve couldn’t fight the pull of sleep anymore. It was disconcertingly like watching movies with his Bucky, whispered commentary and snide remarks about certain characters included. It felt so familiar it hurt. The part of him that sounded like a tired teenager whined that it wasn’t fair. He’d already lost Bucky. Who was this person to come in and rub that loss in his face? Hadn’t he had enough pain for a lifetime? The more rational part continued searching for a way to explain it, but kept coming up empty. What the hell was going on?


	2. Act 2

Steve had never believed in reincarnation. It didn’t fit with what he’d been taught about God. You die, you go to Purgatory, or Heaven, or, for those who are truly wicked, Hell. His pastor had never said anything about people coming back again. You had one shot at life, and if you blew it, well. That was between you and God. Unlike life, with its blacks and whites and shades of grey, death was easy to understand. And it gave Steve comfort, to think that his parents and Bucky were up there somewhere, watching over him, and when he died he would join them. This current situation though, was making it very hard to keep not believing. It was an impossible thought, and yet…

Over the past two weeks, he had watched his bodyguard’s every move, and the man was so like his Bucky that it hurt. His voice, his actions, even the little way he tilted his head back when surprised- it was all so similar. Steve didn’t really know what to do with that. That silly little impossible thought kept rearing it’s head, especially when Barnes would do something he could have sworn no one knew his Bucky did, like when he stacked Steve’s books on his bedside table by size in a perfect pyramid, or when he made his bed with the corners tucked in just so. Little things. Eating each food on his plate in order of least favorite to favorite. Checking the corners in the bathroom _just in case_ (in case of what, Steve hadn’t ever known. With his Bucky, he thought maybe it was because of the spider he said he’d once had fall on his head in the shower. This one… he couldn’t begin to guess.) Things he’d never thought to find in another person. His life dealt in impossibilities. Who was to say this wasn’t one of them?

That isn’t to say there weren’t differences. This man had been born in the ‘80’s, he used slang Steve hadn’t ever heard of, he liked peas (which Bucky had hated), and his hair was two shades lighter than Bucky’s had been. He also had several scars on his face and hand, all with stories he wasn’t supposed to talk about, and a metal arm. That last continued to draw Steve’s attention, just like now. They were watching what he’d been told was a ‘classic’ movie, Lawrence of Arabia, and while the film was interesting, Steve couldn’t help his eyes flicking to the agent’s arm whenever it moved.

“Pretty neat, huh?” the agent asked, and Steve looked up. Agent Barnes -Steve still couldn’t bring himself to call him Bucky- moved his arm up and down and grinned. Steve blushed, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t stare.”

The agent shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not every day you see a working metal arm on somebody.”

“Is it really your whole arm?” Steve wanted to know.

“Yeah. Here, I’ll show you.” The agent pulled off his shirt, revealing a toned body, joined to metal around the shoulder. Old scarring had formed around the seam, a patchwork of red, raised, painful-looking lines.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Steve asked, before he could stop himself.

“Nah,” Barnes shook his head. “The nerves are all dead around the edges. And it’s been years, my body’s used to it by now.”

“Years?” Steve wanted to touch it, but he didn’t want to be rude. This man was far too interesting, and far too like his Bucky. He tried hard to keep his guard up, but it was difficult when every day he felt more comfortable around him. He had to force himself to remember, sometimes, that this man was still practically a stranger, even if they had been living in the same house for over two weeks. He _wanted_ to trust him, more than he’d wanted to trust anyone in a long time, and that thought alone was dangerous.

“Go ahead,” Barnes seemed to catch on to Steve’s desire. “It won’t hurt me if you touch it. And yeah, it’s been… four years now.”

Steve reached out hesitantly, and laid a hand on the metal. “It’s warm!” he’d expected to find it cold to the touch, but the agent’s arm was as warm as living skin. Barnes laughed.

“Well, it would get pretty uncomfortable in winter if it were cold now, wouldn’t it?” he asked, grinning.

“I suppose so,” Steve admitted. “I just didn’t think about that. Do you mind if I ask how you got it?”

“Nope,” Barnes shifted so Steve could run his hand over the shoulder joint. “I can’t talk about all of it, mind. The file’s classified. But we were on a mission somewhere cold. It was supposed to be easy, a recon job with low risk. Then an enemy agent came out of nowhere and attacked my team. Guy exploded my weapon when I ran at him, but I was able to take him out. I don’t remember much after that, but my team was able to get me back to base before I bled out. I woke up without an arm, convinced I wouldn’t be able to go on missions again. Then somebody called in the experimental tech guys and somebody else had an idea. Before I knew it I had an arm again. Six months later I was on light duty, a full year and I was back in the field with my team.”

“Wow.” Steve withdrew his hand, surprised by how lifelike the metal limb felt under his fingers. “So you didn’t have any problems adjusting to it?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Barnes told him. “The first month or so was really touch-and-go. But apparently somebody called in SHIELD’s scientists, a pair of kids named Fitz and Simmons came out and fixed it up for me. It took a while, but now I sometimes forget it’s not my real arm.”

Steve sat back and turned his eyes back to the movie, but he wasn’t really seeing it. He was remembering how Bucky’s arm looked, when he’d found his body. How there hadn’t been much left of it below the elbow, and the bone was poking through the upper part in two places. The doctors said he probably hadn’t survived the fall, but even if he had, he would have bled out from the arm before anyone could have gotten to him. But if he had… would they have had the tech to give him something similar?

“Earth to Steve?” the agent was poking him gently in the shoulder. “Hey,” he said, when Steve turned to look at him. “My arm didn’t weird you out, did it?”

“No, no, sorry!” Steve rushed to reassure him. “No, I was just thinking about something else.”

“Okay, well, you’re missing a good part,” Barnes pointed to the screen, where the main character was involved in a conversation with… somebody. He hadn’t really been paying attention, too busy trying to figure out the enigma of his bodyguard.

“Ah. Thanks.” He tried to focus, but his mind remained far too active. It was also hard to watch tv, he had discovered, when the swelling around his injured eye was almost gone and he was pretty sure it was working well, but it was still covered with bandages. At least the doctor had let him move downstairs so they could watch tv on the nice comfortable couch.

“…you’re not really paying attention, are you?” Barnes asked, after a while.

“No,” Steve admitted.

“Need some more pain pills?” Barnes picked up a bottle from the side table and rattled it. Steve shook his head.

“I’d rather not.”

“If you’re in pain, you should,” the man insisted. “Seriously, these aren’t even the kind that fuck with your mind. It’s just advil.”

“Still, it’s better to not take too much if you don’t need it. Your body can get used to it, and then it won’t really work when it’s necessary.”

Barnes made a face. “Right. But if you don’t take it, the stress on your body from the pain can inhibit your recovery.”

“Or it could be warning me from doing something I shouldn’t be.”

“Or maybe you’re just being stubborn.”`

“Or maybe I just don’t want to take any more medicine.”

“Look, I know you don’t like it, but you don’t need to be in pain,” Barnes insisted.

“Bucky!” Steve cried, exasperated, then stopped. For a moment it had felt exactly like he was back with his best friend. They’d had this argument thousands of times back before the serum, and even after when he’d been wounded in battle. Before he could process what he’d said, the proximity sensors went off and the doorbell rang.

 

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of Captain Smith, even after two weeks of near-constant companionship. The man was reserved, speaking as little as possible, and he watched Bucky with an un-trusting gaze. But then there were times, like this one, where he treated Bucky almost as if they were old friends. And the funny thing was, it _felt_ like they were. Somehow, without ever having met the man before, Bucky knew how to anticipate his moods and how to calm him down. He could even predict what the captain was about to say, or do. Which is why he knew, without knowing exactly how he knew, that Captain Smith was unnerved by him. That seemed to revolve around the fallen friend that Bucky reminded him of, and so he was doing his very best to convince the captain that he was his own person, get him to see Bucky instead of whatever ghost his eyes found in Bucky’s face. Some days were more successful than others.

The man was… not exactly high-strung, but consistently tense, like a rubber band pulled tight. As if, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t rest. His fingers danced on his knee or the bed when he sat. When his hands were still, his fingers curled into a fist or tugged at the sheets, or his shirt, or the fabric of his pants. When he was allowed out of bed, he roved around the room as if looking for something. It made Bucky’s shoulder hurt to watch him, which was why he’d set out to find something that would calm him down.

Movies turned out to be the one thing that they could do where the captain seemed to relax, so Bucky encouraged him to watch as many as possible. Today, they had decided to start with Lawrence of Arabia, which happened to be one of Bucky’s dad’s favorite films. Captain Smith (and Bucky was almost certain now that that wasn’t his real name) seemed to like it, but Bucky couldn’t help but notice how he kept looking at his metal arm. He’d kept it covered for the first week or so, but as he’d gotten more comfortable around the captain he’d decided to let him see. Ever since, he’d caught the captain looking at it when he thought Bucky wasn’t paying attention. He was clearly trying hard not to be rude, but was just as clearly curious about it, so Bucky decided to let him examine it. The conversation went really well, which was surprising. He’d seen the whole range of reactions from people, but the captain just seemed curious and not at all bothered by the tech grafted on to Bucky’s body. Bucky, on the other hand, had a very hard time not showing the very strong reaction his body had towards Steve’s hands on his arm. The man was… well, even with the bandages on his face he was everything Bucky had dreamed of in a man. Kind, honest, gentle, with a quiet sense of humor. When he spoke, he did so with authority, every word weighed carefully before he said it. It made Bucky want to get under his skin, needle him until he said something unreserved for once. Not that he was allowed to think that way while on the job, he sternly reminded himself. He could be friends and still be a good bodyguard, but anything more and things got… complicated. He shoved the feelings down and concentrated on talking to Steve. They had a good talk, even when they started arguing over the pain pills. The captain had even called him Bucky, something he’d never done before. The sound of it had lit up those feelings he’d been shoving down, pulling them right back up to the surface. Thankfully, he was saved by the bell -- the doorbell, that is. Bucky got up to go see who it was, hand on his gun. Just because there hadn’t been any attacks the past two weeks, that was no reason not to be careful. Through the peep-hole he saw a beautiful blond woman standing there. Bucky opened the door, still on alert- he’d never seen this woman before.

“Good afternoon,” she said pleasantly. “Is Steve in?”

“Who are you?” Bucky demanded. The woman nodded in satisfaction.

“I’m Natalia. I’ve got clearance. I’ve come to give Captain Smith an update on the situation.”

“Show me your badge.” Bucky didn’t budge from the door. Just because she said she had clearance didn’t mean he could trust her. Again, she seemed satisfied, pulling out a badge from one of her pockets. Bucky scanned it with his tablet, and her picture came up on the screen, flashing a Level 9 clearance. Nevertheless, Bucky checked the woman over for weapons, divesting her of several knives and three guns, before allowing her into the house. There was something about her, but she was so heavily made-up that she could have been his own sister and he might not have recognized her through the face-paint. Don’t get him wrong, it was tastefully done, but _damn_. It had to take forever to get ready in the mornings if she did that every day.

The captain sat up when Bucky led the woman in, eyes going wide when he saw her.

“Nat!” he said, sitting up straighter. “What’re you doing here?” The woman smirked.

“I’m delivering a status report, courtesy of Director Coulson himself.”

“Did they get them?” the captain asked.

The woman shook her head. “No, but we think we’re close.”

“Who are they?” the captain wanted to know. The woman frowned at him, and her eyes flicked towards Bucky significantly.

“Barnes, could you excuse us?” the captain asked. Bucky frowned and crossed his arms.

“I don’t think so.” He wasn’t about to leave the captain alone with someone who’d brought that many weapons in with her. Clearance or not, she could be dangerous to him.

“No?” the woman lifted an eyebrow at him.

“No.” Bucky said. “I’m here to guard him. I’m not leaving him alone until we know he’s safe.”

“You don’t have SHIELD clearance for this,” she pointed out.

“I have a Top Secret clearance with the US government,” Bucky countered. “My own missions are so high level even Top Secret doesn’t grant access to the files. In addition, I was cleared for everything that involves protecting Captain Smith, and that includes information pertaining to the people targeting him. I’m staying.”

The woman and the captain exchanged glances, and Bucky waited for the captain to throw him out anyway. Instead, the man looked at him, considering, and then nodded. “Alright. You can stay.”

“Steve!” the woman protested, and he gave her a look that made her shut her mouth. Bucky was getting the feeling that she was a member of the captain’s unit, or at least had been under his command at some point. They seemed to communicate without words, the sign of a close relationship. The thought made Bucky jealous. “Fine.” She sat down on one of the chairs across from the couch, reaching over and flipping the tv off as she went. “So, we’ve figured out who’s targeting you.”

Over the next hour, the woman gave them a detailed report of the actions Steve’s unit and other SHIELD agents had taken to track down the shooter and the people who had hired him. It turned out, a radical group of terrorists with loose associations to ISIS had found some good reason to eliminate the captain and used one of their people to do it. SHIELD had tracked them back to a building in Manhattan, but they’ blown up the building before anyone had gotten close. Now they were tracing every lead they had to find out where the group was based, before they could attack somebody else. By the time the woman left, Captain Smith was looking more worried. He made her promise to tell his team that he was doing well, a promise she readily agreed to. Then she left, telling them she would come back the next time they had any important information.

“So,” Bucky turned to the captain after Natalia departed. “Your girlfriend?” he asked. She’d been sitting a little too close to Steve for Bucky’s comfort, and some of the looks they had shared… it hadn’t read explicitly as a romantic connection, but there was _something_ there.

“What? No!” Steve looked up at him, startled, and Bucky relaxed at the honest confusion in his face. “No,” Steve repeated. “Natas- Natalia is just a good friend. A teammate, even. I mean, she’s on my unit. Under my command. Not my girlfriend…. What?” That last was asked because Bucky started laughing. _Damn_ but Steve was cute when flustered. The thought sobered him. Bad idea. Steve might be fast becoming a friend, but he was also a mission, and that had to take priority. Any… feelings… could be dealt with once Bucky was no longer his bodyguard.

“Barnes?” Steve asked, and Bucky realized he’d stopped laughing. Quickly, he policed his expression, but it was probably too late.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he insisted, hoping Steve would go along with him and ignore what had just happened. “Barnes makes me feel like you’re my CO. And she hates me.”

“You CO doesn’t _hate_ you,” Steve said, but Bucky shook his head.

“You have _no_ idea. I’ve caused her so much trouble, I think she was glad to get rid of me for however long SHIELD wants me.”

“You can’t mean that!” Steve protested. Bucky laughed at him as he swiped a bag of chips from the table and collapsed back down on the couch next to Steve.

“Oh, but I do. Did I ever tell you I thought this job was punishment detail when I signed on?”

“Punishment detail?” Steve sat up a little straighter, and Bucky took a moment to indulge in the way his shirt went tight over his chest muscles before mentally kicking himself back into job-mode.

“Yeah. See, ah, you know General Pike’s kids?”

“The twins?” Steve asked him, leaning in now, curious.

“Yeah, boy and girl. Both at West Point. Well, their dad was at some big party my unit was invited to. And they were there. And the sister took a liking to me.”

“You didn’t!” Steve was torn between looking scandalized and amusement.

“I did,” Bucky confirmed with a grin. “How was I to know they were his kids? _She_ said I was hot, _he_ said we should have some fun, _I_ didn’t have anywhere to go, somebody had given them a car with a _really_ nice backseat…”

“How did the general find out?” Steve asked him, and for the first time he wasn’t looking at Bucky with mistrust, or like he was seeing somebody else. His eyes were focused on Bucky’s face, waiting to see what he would say next.

“Well, it just so happened that he’d come to the party with his kids. So when he wanted to go home…”

“Oh no,” the captain chuckled. “I can guess what happened.”

“Yep.” Bucky sighed, leaning back into the cushions. “He found us in a rather compromising position. And, well, they’re both of age and consenting adults, so he couldn’t do anything overtly, but he did make sure I got shit assignments for two whole months. Probably would’ve kept it up a lot longer if SHIELD hadn’t pulled me out to guard you.”

“Heh,” Steve smiled and shook his head, relaxing into the couch. “That’s one hell of a story, Buck.”

“Totally worth it,” Bucky declared, heartened by the fact that Steve hadn’t once expressed distaste that he’s slept with a woman _and_ a man. He hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy that would care, but you can’t always be sure.

“Why didn’t you just take them back to your room?” Steve wanted to know.

“Who says I had one?” Bucky asked, though, in fact, he had rented out a hotel room that night for the explicit purpose of bringing back a date or two. It had always been his policy to get one when going for a night out, that way nobody got mad when his roommates or housemates or whoever woke up to find they had extra, unexpected, company.

Steve shrugged. “Just seems like something you’d do.”

“It’s spooky how well you know me,” Bucky told him, only slightly kidding. This guy seemed to pick up on the littlest bits of his personality like he’d known him all his life. “But the room was a few blocks away, and the car was closer.”

“And this is why you get into trouble. And don’t try to tell me this is the first time,” Steve warned when Bucky opened his mouth to do just that.

“Fine,” Bucky pouted. “But you gotta admit, life is more fun this way.”

The captain rolled his eyes and sighed with fond exasperation. “I guess I can’t really blame you. I’ve met Pike’s son, and he _is_ very attractive. I suppose his sister must be as well, being his twin.”

Bucky blinked, processing his words. Steve had just admitted that he found the general’s son attractive. His _son_. Did that mean…? No way. There was _no way_ Bucky could be that lucky. Steve couldn’t possibly be this hot, this _perfect_ , and also into guys.

As if completely oblivious to the bombshell he had just dropped, the captain picked up the remote and switched the movie back to the beginning.

“I think I forgot what was happening. Mind if we start over?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, still struggling with his thoughts. The problem was, they _wanted_ to travel down the road Steve had just unknowingly opened. But, again, he couldn’t. Not while he was on the job. Maybe not ever, if Steve really was, as Bucky was beginning to believe, Captain America. There were appearances to keep up, and he doubted SHIELD would be happy with their golden boy coming out of the closet. The thoughts would just have to stay a happy fantasy. Somewhere locked away with the other impossible thoughts- the ones that said maybe this was meant to be, because, in a past life, it _had been_.

That night, after doing his last check on the security systems and making the rounds one final time, Bucky poked his head into Steve’s room. The man was asleep with the TV on, the light playing across his face as the images changed on the screen. He looked peaceful, beautiful even. And Bucky was pretty sure then that he was well and truly fucked. Emotional attachments never turned out well. But that didn’t stop him from positioning himself in his cot so that his last sight before he went to sleep would be Steve’s face.

_The theater was dark, silent, and it was easy to pretend it was just the two of them. Steve was on the edge of his seat, watching Flash Gordon battle Captain Torch to save earth from the Purple Death. Bucky stretched, putting his arm across the back of Steve_ _’s seat. Steve’s tiny body was far too warm, and he knew his friend was getting a cold, but he couldn’t quite regret the outing. Not when Steve turned to him with a huge grin on his face, pointing to the screen._

_“Did ‘ya see that, Buck? Flash is gonna save the Earth again!”_

_“Sure, but where’s the whole ‘conquering the universe’ bit come in? It’s called_ Flash Gordon Conquers the Universe _, but all I_ _’ve seen so far is Flash and Dale and Zarkov looking for a cure for this Purple Death thing,” Bucky whispered back. Steve smacked him on the arm._

_“They’ll get to it. But first Flash and Dale have to save Zarkov!”_

_“Quiet!” a voice behind them hissed. Steve winced and whispered an apology. Bucky shrugged it off. People talked in the theater all the time. At least he and Steve were only whispering to each other._

_The episode ended and another short came on, this one a Three Stooges skit. Those guys were hilarious. Steve laughed and laughed, until the laugh turned into a cough. Bucky pulled him close, patting and rubbing at his back until the coughing fit subsided before giving him some of the soda they_ _’d bought to share. By that time, the feature film was getting started. In the darkness of the theater, Steve leaned against Bucky and rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Just for a few minutes, before he’d recovered from the fit and sat back, but it was the best feeling in the world. Selfishly, Bucky wished they could stay like that forever. But Steve wasn’t interested in guys, and even if he was, it wasn’t safe. Bucky would have to be content with what he could get, and dream of some other world where he could walk down the street holding Steve’s hand. It wasn’t near enough, but it would have to do. When Steve pulled away the rush of cold air down his arm felt like the first icy winds of winter._


	3. Act 3

Several weeks later, Steve got his bandages off. The left side of his face was obscured by rough, raw-looking scars, but Bucky could still see his bright blue eyes watching him. Over the weeks that gaze had turned from hard and untrusting to something far softer and almost fond. Without the bandages, Bucky was even more struck by his resemblance to Captain America. An idea that was reinforced by the fact that, every night since the first he slept in this house, he had more and more dreams about Steve Rogers. To be perfectly honest, he was more than half certain that Captain Steve Smith was really Steve Rogers, and the whole identity thing was to keep him safe and out of sight until the enemy targeting him was found. It would explain a lot, like the enhanced strength Bucky couldn’t help but notice, or the way he kept forgetting how long it had been since he’d been shot. (The official story was it had happened several months ago, but at times the things Steve said made it sound like it had happened only a week or two before Bucky was brought in.) Bucky tried not to think about it, in case the whole thing was just wishful thinking on his part. The whole thing was like something from his wildest daydreams.

The strangest thing of all was that, when Steve called him Bucky (which he was doing more and more often now), he said it in exactly the same way Captain Rogers did in his dreams. To make matters worse, those damn _feelings_ kept getting in the way of things. Never before had he had this much trouble turning off his desires. Being with Steve felt _right_ , in a way that was more than a little spooky, to be honest. It had started with a general attraction, and deepened with a terrifying speed into a thrill in the pit of his stomach every time Steve smiled. The way it had crept up on him, taking over almost without warning, was frightening. And sometimes, there was a look in Steve’s eyes that seemed to say he felt the same.

It scared him. The dreams had been one thing, but this? He didn’t know if he liked it, or wanted to run screaming for the hills. The thing was, if he was right, and Steve really was Captain America, then the dead friend, the one he seemed to see when he looked at Bucky, was that other Bucky Barnes. And if that was the case, what did that mean for them? And what did it mean for Bucky, who kept dreaming of the life of another man? If the dreams were true, did that mean he wasn’t really himself, but an extension of someone else? Things like that didn’t happen, not in any world Bucky had experience with. It was an impossible thought. And yet… and yet he found himself entertaining it in the dark hours of the night.

To celebrate Steve’s bandages coming off, they went to the movies together. The outing had to be approved by Agent Hill, and Natalia was brought in to shadow them. They went to a quiet local theater on a Wednesday in the middle of the day, when there would be fewer people around. Steve and Bucky sat through the movie- a remake of the classic Batman films- and walked back out to the parking lot, deep in discussion about the movie.

“Good film,” Steve said, taking the empty popcorn container and throwing it into a bin. “Not exactly up to par with the old tv series, but the special effects were pretty good.”

“The old tv series?” Bucky asked with a laugh. “Don’t tell me you watched that! With, oh, what’s his name… Adam West.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Steve demanded, looking stung. “It’s a good show!”

“Campy as hell though,” Bucky told him. “I just couldn’t take it seriously!”

“It’s not _meant_ to be taken seriously,” Steve argued, and Bucky found himself really liking the way his voice sounded when combining that level of intensity with playfulness. It did funny things to the parts of him that he refused to examine until he was no longer Steve’s bodyguard. “Back in the war, we used to read Batman comics when they came out. I remember guys passing around the same old comic book for weeks, until the damn thing fell apart.”

“Back in the war?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. There was one of those slips, the ones that told him Smith was not really Steve’s last name.

“Well, ah,” Steve paused, getting that panicky look that Bucky had learned meant he’d been caught in a lie and wasn’t sure what to do. “You see…” He looked Bucky in the eye, and then sighed. “What the hell,” he muttered under his breath. “Truth is, I-” Bucky’s eyes widened. Was this the part where Steve admitted to being Captain America? Unfortunately, he wasn’t to find out, because that was when Natalia shouted “Down!” from behind a car.

Bucky tackled Steve, pushing him to the pavement as a shot passed above his head. Natalia returned shots as Steve reached for the gun he carried concealed at his back. Bucky pulled his own weapons from the holsters at his sides and lifted his head. Some instinct made him roll against Steve, just in time for the bullet to smash into the ground where his head had been. He rolled more, searching for the shooter, while Natalia returned gunfire from her hiding place between some cars.

Steve crawled, flat against the ground, until there was a car between him and the shooter. Bucky followed, leaning against the car to shoot at the enemy he still couldn’t see. People were screaming and running, racing for cover. In the distance, sirens began to wail. A shot came from the top of the building. Bucky looked and saw a sniper on the corner of the roof. Bucky fired off a few shots, and saw the sniper duck.

“I’m going left. You go right. Meet back at the house,” Steve ordered.

“Right,” Bucky nodded, eyes on the sniper’s perch. If he could get up there-

“ _Get Steve back to the house,_ _”_ Natalia’s voice crackled over the comm unit. “ _I_ _’ll get the shooter_ ”.

“Got it,” Bucky said. He exchanged a glace with Steve, and was startled to see part of his scaring peeling off of his face. He ignored it in favor of the current situation.

“Right,” Steve told him. “On three. One, two, three.” They ran.

Dodging bullets in a civilian shopping center was far different from doing so in a burned-out building or a middle-east war zone. Bucky found himself ducking down a side-street, running full out, stopping every few feet to exchange fire with the sniper or one of his cronies. Every once in a while, he crossed paths with Steve, both evading the enemy. It felt like one of his dreams, running through European cities and forests, trying to find Hydra agents. Seeing Steve get shot, fall, and get right back up. He hoped to god Steve didn’t get shot this time. Not on his watch, and not ever. He’d become far too fond of the man.

Bucky rounded a corner and heard a shot. A second later, he felt the bullet impact his side. A second and third followed. Bucky went down. With effort, he pulled himself around a corner, out of the line of fire. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Steve call his name.

 

Bucky screamed. Steve knew that scream. It sent a chill through his heart. He didn’t know when he’d gone from complete suspicion to cautious trust, but somehow it had happened. He supposed living in each other’s pockets for weeks would do that. Or maybe it was the man’s abnormal resemblance to his Bucky, right down to the nickname. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the hope he had found himself harboring, late at night when impossible dreams feel closer to real, that somehow _his_ Bucky had found a way back to him. His heart raced a little faster whenever they accidentally touched. His breath caught when he saw him in certain light. And, most damning of all, he _wanted_ him. He wanted this man that was and was not his Bucky. And that felt like a betrayal of his friend and all they could have become, had things been different.

None of that mattered when he heard this Bucky scream. What mattered was getting to him, _right now_. He ran, turned left down an alleyway, and skidded to a halt beside his prone form. The shooter was silent for now, no doubt waiting to make his next move. Steve dropped to his knees beside his bodyguard.

“Bucky. Bucky, look at me,” he turned Bucky onto his back, looking for the wound, and found his side was covered in blood. “Bucky, hey, come on,” he called, and was encouraged when Bucky groaned and cracked his eyes open.

“Your scars are coming off,” Bucky said fuzzily, one hand brushing against Steve’s face. Steve blinked, confused, before he remembered the fake scarring Natasha had put on him so that nobody would recognize him. Bucky hadn’t known it was fake, but then, he thought Steve had taken much longer to heal than he actually did. Steve had been considering telling him his real identity tonight. That was clearly going to have to wait.

“I know. I’ll fix them when we get out of here. Just hang on, okay? Nat’s gonna get us some backup.” Steve ripped open Bucky’s shirt to see the extent of the damage. He didn’t know how deep the bullets went, or if they were still in the wounds. He tore off part of his own shirt, wadding up the fabric and pressing it over the holes in Bucky’s chest.

“’ll be fine,” Bucky mumbled. “Didn’t hit ‘nything important. Gotta get you outta here.”

“Stay still,” Steve ordered, pressing his free hand against Bucky’s shoulder to keep him on the ground. “You shouldn’t move until we’ve got the medics here.”

“Not safe!” Bucky protested. “Steve, leave me. Get to cover.”

 

_“Steve! Leave me! Get to cover!” Bucky was shouting, blood staining his blue coat and turning it almost black._

_“I’m not leaving you!” Steve told him, crouched down at his side. Somehow, their hands found each other and he squeezed Bucky’s fingers tightly._

_“You’ve got to! It’s not safe!” Bucky cried, but Steve shook his head._

_“Stay still. That’s an order,” he added, when Bucky looked like he was going to protest. A Hydra agent rounded the corner. Steve shot him. When he looked back to Bucky, his friend had his eyes closed._

_“Don’t you die on me,” he ordered. “Bucky, don’t you die, you hear me?”_

_“Or what?” Bucky asked, weakly. “You’ll kill me?”_

_“I just might,” Steve told him. A few seconds passed and he killed a few more Hydra agents that came after them. “Hey, Buck, look at me. You’re gonna be alright.”_

_“Sure, punk,” Bucky told him. “Just resting my eyes a bit.”_

_“Don’t you dare,” Steve said. “Don’t you die on me. I can’t do this without you.”_

_“Sure you can,” Bucky said, but Steve was just glad he was still talking. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got the commandos and Peggy. You don’t need me.”_

_“No, but I_ **_want_ ** _you,_ _” Steve said, then blushed when he realized what he’d just admitted. “I don’t want to do this without you,” he added._

_“You want me, huh?” Bucky asked, cracking his eyes open and giving Steve a cocky grin. “You’ll need a better pickup line than that, Rogers.”_

_“Screw you, jerk,” Steve said, and Bucky laughed. When the laughter had subsided he was still looking at Steve._

_“I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of here,” he admitted. “I’ve lost a lot of blood.”_

_“You’ll be fine,” Steve told him, because that was the only acceptable option. “I’m getting you out.”_

_“You need to go. It’s been almost five minutes. The team isn’t coming back to get us. You know the orders. They’ll blow the base. If you leave now, you might have enough time to make it.”_

_“_ **_NO_ ** _,_ _” Steve said. “Not without you.”_

_“Yes,” Bucky told him, and squeezed his hand. “You have to live, Steve. The world needs you.”_

_“I need you.” Steve didn’t care how sappy that sounded, it was true._

_Bucky_ _’s smile was sad. “I know. You know I love you, right?”_

 

“Steve. Steve. Hey, you alright?” Bucky’s voice brought him back to the present, and he looked down to see his friend looking up at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” he said, maybe a little too sharply, but the memory had rattled him. “Stay down.” He stood, dragging two large industrial trash bins over to give them some modicum of cover.

“Good idea,” Bucky said, voice raspy and weak. “But you should go.”

“ _NO,_ _”_ Steve said, dismissing the idea immediately. He’d already lost Bucky once. He wasn’t going to do it again. They’d made it out of that mission, but only just. And Bucky had nearly bled out before they could get the wounds closed. This time was going to be different. _This time_ … the impossibility of the thought didn’t matter. This was Bucky, and he was in danger.

“Hey,” Bucky caught his hand. “I’ll be fine. I swear I’ll be fine. I’m enhanced. I won’t die from this.”

“You’re… what?” Steve asked, surprised.

“Enhanced,” Bucky told him. “They had to do it, to give me my arm. Otherwise my body wouldn’t have been able to handle it.”

“How enhanced?” Steve asked, glad to use the conversation as a distraction while he worked on binding Bucky’s wounds with strips torn from both of their shirts.

“Strength, fast healing, speed. It’s a modified version of Dr. Banner’s serum, but they tested it on mice before they gave it to me, to make sure I wouldn’t… you know.”

“Huh.” Steve wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he supposed it was a good thing. “How fast do you heal?”

“Well, I’m no Wolverine, but give me a week or so and it’ll be like I was never shot.” Bucky winced when Steve tightened the makeshift bandage, then continued. “What about you? That’s some pretty nice fake scarring going on there.”

“I-” Steve started to reply when a gunshot announced the return of the sniper. From the sound of it, it bounced off one of the garbage bins. Steve gripped his gun, looking around for the sniper.

“Roof, two o’clock,” Bucky said, and Steve turned in time to see light flashing off the gun as the sniper repositioned. He ducked, and the bullet hit the wall behind them. Standing, he fired more shots at the enemy, wondering where the hell Natasha was with that backup.

“Steve!” Bucky called, sounding alarmed. Steve turned towards him, only to be knocked off his feet by Bucky for the second time that day. A bullet whizzed over their heads, coming from the opposite direction.

“Two snipers?” Steve asked, trying to locate the second enemy.

“Looks like,” Bucky said. His face was pale, inches above Steve’s. “Stay down.”

“Come on,” Steve inched back, pulling Bucky with him, until they were in a corner between the wall and a trash bin, and then he dragged it to be directly between them and the snipers.

“Where the hell is your girlfriend and our backup?” his friend growled. “She should be here by now.”

“She’ll be here.” Steve trusted Natasha. She wouldn’t let him down.

The garbage bin was a good barrier for the snipers, and for a time all their shots hit it instead of the two men against the wall. Unfortunately for them, the snipers could move around. One would keep them pinned down with light fire while the other adjusted his position. It was getting tiring, trying to anticipate where the next shot would come from so he could keep Bucky out of the line of fire. Their only hope was Natasha at this point.

They waited for what seemed like forever until the comm unit crackled at Natasha announced the all-clear. Steve felt his shoulders sag in relief, the paleness of Bucky’s skin was frightening and he knew they needed to get him to a hospital soon.

“Come on,” Steve gently lifted Bucky to his feet. “Let’s get you taken care of.” Bucky grimaced, giving Steve his all-too-familiar eye roll at the mention of doctors. What was encouraging was that he could stand on his own. Steve moved the dumpster out of the way, and they saw Natasha waiting on the other end of the alleyway, two agents at her side.

Suddenly, Bucky’s head turned. There was something behind them. Steve turned. A woman was running towards them. Bucky jumped between him and the attacker, and Steve’s heart stopped. Her coat pulled away. She was wearing a bomb. A scream tore from his throat and he shoved Bucky to the side. Threw himself onto the attacker, knocking her to the ground. Searing pain. Bucky calling his name. Lights out.


	4. Act 4

They kicked him out of the hospital. Oh, they removed the bullets from his side and stitched up his wounds, but then he was sent home with a promise from Agent Hill that he would be hearing from her soon. He had the feeling that conversation would not go well. He had failed. He had gotten cocky, put at ease by weeks of no activity. And now Steve was lying on an operating table fighting for his life while Bucky sat down at the couch they had watched so many movies together on and tried to ignore the pain in his side. That was easy. What was harder was ignoring the pain in his mind.

He replayed the last moments of the attack in his mind again and again. Limping down the alley with Steve, relieved to see Natalia there with another agent. Sensing something and turning his head. Seeing a woman rushing towards them. Jumping between her and Steve. Seeing the bomb strapped to her chest. Steve shoving him aside and pushing the woman to the ground, laying on top of the bomb. Running to Steve, pulling at him to get him away before the bomb went off. The explosion. Steve’s blood all over the wall, the ground, and him. Crying out, turning Steve and praying he was still alive. The relief of feeling a pulse in his neck. Natalia running up to him. Getting Steve to the hospital. Being escorted to a different room to have his own wounds taken care of. Agent Hill coming in, refusing to let him know how Steve was doing. Being sent home. Walking through the empty house, missing Steve.

He wondered how Steve was doing. Had they been able to save him? What would happen now? Who was targeting him, and why? Bucky was so, so tired, but his mind just wouldn’t shut off. Maybe… maybe he could go back to the hospital. Bring some clothes or something for Steve. He wouldn’t even need to see him, just get an update on how he was doing.

Bucky went into his bathroom and splashed his face to wake up. What a night. He sighed and looked up to meet his own eyes in the mirror. He blinked. Then rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked again. It was his face in the mirror, but… not. His hair was shorter than it had been since he was 19, and he gripped the sink with two flesh-and-blood hands. The reflection in the mirror grinned at him as he stared, and winked.

“The hell? Fuck, did I get hit too hard on the head?” Bucky asked himself, not seriously expecting an answer.

“Nope,” the mirror-man told him cheerfully. “I figured it was about time we had a talk about taking care of Steve, seeing as you’re not getting the memories back near fast enough.”

“What?” Bucky asked. Then- “What _are_ you?”

Mirror-Bucky gave him a wicked smile. “I’m you. Or I used to be you. Or, rather, you used to be me. Don’t worry about it, this stuff’s complicated. Mortals don’t have the right equipment to understand.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky told the mirror. “Obviously I got hit in that fight and this is all a hallucination. I’ll wake up in the hospital and not remember any of this.”

Mirror-Bucky snorted. “Sure, keep telling yourself that, pal.” Bucky suddenly became aware that the other-him was wearing an old-style military uniform, like from WWII. A couple medals decorated his chest, and Bucky thought he could make out a sergeant’s insignia. Great, he was hallucinating the old Howling Commando, Bucky Barnes- the one he’d been nicknamed after.

“Not a hallucination,” Sergeant Barnes said, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m the real deal, Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th. And you, buddy, you’re me. And that means you got responsibilities now.”

“No way, I’m not you. I’m me. Just me,” Bucky protested. He didn’t believe in reincarnation, or any of that shit. There was no way he was the future version of anybody.

Sergeant Barnes laughed at him. “Ever wonder why you were so obsessed with the Howling Commandos as a kid? Or why you’re drawn to all that Captain America stuff?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s just a kid thing. Like how my sister was always talking about the Titanic.”

“A kid thing that carried over into your adult life?” the man in the mirror wanted to know.

“Why not?” Bucky asked him. “Seriously, there’s nothing wrong with being interested in historical stuff.”

“Nope,” Sergeant Barnes agreed. “But most people don’t get memories of battles and stuff. They don’t dream about events they never experienced- not where the dream is correct down to the last detail. Most people didn’t tell their parents about things they couldn’t possibly know when they were little kids.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with that. He remembered when they’d started calling him Bucky, the story about how he’d said that had been his name in another life. And the dreams he’d been having recently… they were so vivid, more real than any dream he had ever had.

“It’s all your memories. _Our_ memories,” Sergeant Barnes told him.

“Okay…. So, saying I believe you, which I don’t, by the way, why come to me? Why now?” Bucky asked, glaring at his reflection.

Sergeant Barnes laughed at him. “Oh come on, pal. Don’t tell me you haven’t worked out who Stevie is.”

“He’s Captain Steve Smith, on leave while he recovers from injuries acquired in the line of duty,” Bucky said stubbornly. He refused to give in to the wild fancies his tired mind called up about his friend.

“You keep on believing that.” Sergeant Barnes shook his head and leaned forward. “But you did a terrible job protecting him tonight. I don’t care what you believe about him or about you and me, you got to do better.”

“What?” Bucky laughed at him. “You what, show up in my mirror back from the dead, just to tell me to take care of Steve?”

“That’s about the size of it,” the reflection said. “I failed him last time, and he got frozen for seventy years. I ain’t about to let you fail this time around.”

Bucky shifted, bringing his metal arm up to brush the hair out of his eyes. Sergeant Barnes’ eyes tracked the movement.

“You didn’t fail,” Bucky told him. “You died. There’s a difference.”

“I left him alone,” Sergeant Barns said. “Which _you_ ,” he pointed right at Bucky, “can’t do. You don’t leave him, not in the hospital, not on assignment, not _ever_. Rule number one- don’t leave him alone.”

Bucky frowned at him. “Right, so there are rules now?”

“Yep. And you’d better remember ‘em, because I don’t get to come back and remind you. Now listen up. Rule one- don’t leave him alone. Rule two- keep him out of trouble. When that’s not possible, make sure he doesn’t get hurt. He’s the type of guy who’ll jump on a live grenade to save people, you can’t let him. You got to show him he’s got something to live for. Which brings me to number three- don’t hide how you feel about him. It took us too damn long to work it out last time, don’t waste time this time around.”

“How I feel?!” Bucky exclaimed. He wasn’t even sure of how he felt, who was this mirror-man to tell him about it?

The other Bucky laughed at him again. “Trust me, you’re in love with him. Whatever else has changed from me to you, that’s no different.”

Bucky shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it. Any more rules for me? Since you seem to be giving me a list now?”

“Just the one,” Mirror-Bucky said. “Trust Steve. He’s never gonna hurt you, ever.”

Bucky looked down, examining his hands as they clutched the edge of the sink. “I know,” he said. When he looked back up, the reflection staring back at him was his alone. If he could have, he would have written the whole conversation off as a dream or hallucination caused by pain or medication. But the thing was, it had felt far too real for that. It felt _right_ , in a way hallucinations don’t. Unless it was all just wishful thinking. He didn’t think so, though. His thoughts went back to his sister’s story about the time he was three and had an imaginary friend in the mirror. Could it be…? Most people would say it was impossible, but somehow that didn’t seem to be a word that could apply to _anything_ in Bucky’s life anymore.

Shaking his head to clear it, Bucky wandered out of the bathroom and into Steve’s room. The cot he’d been sleeping in as Steve’s bodyguard was pulled against the wall, neatly made up and ready for him to sleep in it. He ignored it, going to the dresser and pulling out an old duffel bag and stuffing it with Steve’s clothes. As he went, he checked the other drawers, just to make sure there wasn’t anything else Steve might need. That was how he found the medals.

It was a deep drawer, and it was full to the brim of those little velvet boxes they give you with medals or jewelry inside. Bucky picked one up, opening it, to find a Medal of Honor, of the kind last issued in 1944. Reverently, aware of its significance, he gently brushed the metal with a fingertip. And a memory, not quite his own, came back to him.

_“So, Medal of Honor, huh?” he asked, grinning at Steve. Steve grimaced and loosened the collar of his dress uniform._

_“I was just doing my duty,” he said, and Bucky laughed._

_“Right. Just doing your duty. Stevie, if everybody had your definition of ‘doing your duty’, this war would have been won in the first month.”_

_“Still,” Steve said, “they didn’t need to award me for it. I broke regs and went AWOL, after all.”_

_“And saved a lot of damn good men doing it,” Bucky reminded him. “You deserve that medal, Steve. Don’t ever think different.”_

_Steve shrugged._ _“I guess. Still feels wrong.”_

_“Steve-” Bucky tried to say something, but was cut off when a small velvet box landed in his hands._

_“You’re the one that deserves it, Buck. You did your best to get us all back here alive, after being tortured by Hydra goons for who-knows-how-long.”_

_“Steve…” Bucky gaped after Steve, who ducked out of the tent without another word. Carefully, Bucky opened the box. There it was, the highest medal anyone could achieve, and Steve had just tossed it to him and said he didn’t want it. Bucky ran a finger over the star, then closed it. Steve may not want it, but Bucky would keep it safe for him anyway._

The memory released him, and Bucky stared at the box in his hands. “Huh.” He put the medal down, and picked up another one. Each box in the drawer contained some sort of medal. Silver Stars, Purple Hearts, another Medal of Honor, all kinds of medals were there in that drawer, just tossed in like they didn’t matter. Bucky shook his head and took them out, displaying them carefully on top of the dresser, boxes open to show everyone who came in just what kind of man Steve was. Then he zipped up the duffel bag and headed for the hospital.


	5. Act 5

“I’m sorry, sir. There is no “Steve Smith” listed in our database.”

Bucky sighed in frustration. The nurses had been balking him for ages now. Never mind that he’d come in with Steve and knew for a fact he was here in this hospital. “Okay. Try Steve Rogers.”

“Like Captain America?” the nurse raised an eyebrow at him, and Bucky sighed.

“Look, I know, it sounds ridiculous. But please. He’s my…” He paused. What was Steve to him, really? His charge? That assignment was probably over now that he’d let him get hurt. His friend? Sure. Even though they’d only known each other a handful of weeks, Steve felt closer to him than anyone he’d ever known. But friend just didn’t fit what the man was to him. Even without the dreams or memories or whatever the man in the mirror had called them, Steve had been more than just a mission from the moment he’d walked into that room and seen his face. Steve was larger than life. How did he sum that all up in one word?

“He’s my best friend. I just want to know if he’s alright.”

The nurse shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s no Steve Rogers _or_ Steve Smith in our records. And even if there were, we can’t give patient information out to non-family members.”

“Right.” Bucky sighed. Great. He was just going to have to find him himself. He’d look in every single room if he had to. “Then I don’t suppose you could tell me if a guy came in here with wounds from an explosion, would you? Or where such a patient might be, if there was one?”

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head. “There’s no one like that on my list.” She was lying, he could see it in her eyes, but calling her on it wouldn’t make a lick of difference.

“Alright then. Thanks for your help.” Bucky turned from the desk and walked back down the hall, towards the exit. Once out of sight of the desk, he made a quick turn and ducked another hallway, searching for a directory on the walls. The trauma unit seemed like the best place to start looking, though he had no idea how to go about finding it.

“Sergeant Barnes.” Bucky jumped and spun, only to see Natalia standing by the other end of the hall.

“Natalia,” he smiled, and lifted the duffel bag in his hands. “I came to bring Steve some clothes, in case he needed them.”

“I see.” Her expression didn’t change, and Bucky felt his palm begin to sweat. He didn’t like the serious look in her eyes. “I had heard that Agent Hill told you you were relieved of duty.”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky tried for an innocent expression. “I was going to go sleep for a week, but I figured Steve might want some clothes without holes in them when he gets to go home.”

“Who said anything about him coming home?” Natalia asked, coming closer. In this light, her hair was more red than blond.

“Well, he’s not dead. The wounds weren’t bad enough to kill an enhanced,” Bucky told her, taking a gamble that she knew who Steve really was.

“I see.” Natalia was close enough now that Bucky was able to see her makeup was gone. And without it… hell.

“So, are you going to tell me how he is, Agent Romanov?” Bucky asked, satisfied when her eyes widened just a fraction. She hadn’t expected him to figure it out, perhaps. She must have been wearing colored contacts as Natalia, or he might have seen it sooner. He’ been thrown off by those dark brown eyes, and perhaps he’d been so busy denying to himself who Steve was, that he never thought to question the pretty girl coming in to give them updates.

“I take it you know who he really is, then?” she asked him, coming still closer until he was forced to back up a step.

“Let’s just say I’ve made a really good guess,” Bucky told her. “Though I know for a fact Avengers press release has him over in Syria right now working with our troops on the ground over there.”

“That’s just a cover,” Natasha told him, confirming it for him, finally. “Until we eliminate the people who want him dead.”

“Okay. So… how is he?”

Natasha looked at him hard, then nodded, seeming to make a decision. “Come with me, Barnes.”

Bucky followed her down several halls, until she turned off into an empty examination room.

“Sit,” she ordered him, pointing to a chair up against the wall. Her tone allowed for no argument. Bucky sat.

“Now.” Natasha stood in front of him, hands on her hips. “Why are you really here?”

“To see Steve,” Bucky told her honestly.

“Why?”

“I want to know if he’s alright. He’s… look,” Bucky really didn’t like the suspicion on her face. “He’s important to me, okay? I’ve been living with him for almost two months now, and we’ve gotten to know each other. He’s my friend now, not just a mission I can be done with because Agent Hill says so.”

“Fine. Then tell me this, how did the enemy know where to find him today?” Her eyes were hard, unforgiving. If he’d been guilty, Bucky would have been squirming in his seat right then. But he had nothing to hide.

“I don’t know,” he told her. “Really. I would _never_ put Steve in danger.” He could remember his -Sergeant Barnes’- anger when he’d learned Steve had enlisted. The fury that anybody had allowed him to be put in harm’s way. Past self or not, the thought of anyone wanting to harm Steve now brought up that same burning anger within him.

“I believe him,” another voice said, and Bucky looked up to see Tony Stark, of all people, leaning against the door. “The files came back clean. We had a bit of confusion, since his name’s so similar to Steve’s friend from back in the day and all, but he checks out. And Steve says he trusts him, so I guess there’s that too. He asked to see him, if he was still in the area.”

“He asked to see me?” Bucky asked, leaning forward. “Is he- I mean, will he be alright?”

Stark laughed. “According to him, he could be out running laps right now. The docs give it a few days, but he’ll be fine. He took worse damage fighting Loki.”

“Good,” Bucky sighed, relieved, and sagged back into the chair like a string had been cut. “Can I see him now?”

“Hmm.” Natasha gave Bucky another hard look. Bucky ignored it, looking instead to Stark.

“I don’t see why not,” Stark said, and Natasha frowned. Their eyes locked, and for a moment Bucky could feel a battle of wills before Natasha sighed.

“Alright, fine,” she snapped. “But I’m not explaining it to Hill. And we’re taking him to see _her_ first.”

“Right. Then we’ve just got one more stop before we get you to see Steve,” Stark told him, dropping a friendly arm around Bucky’s shoulders and guiding him out of the room.

 

That next stop happened to be another examination room just outside of a cordoned off wing of the hospital. A girl waited inside, looking up at him with scarlet-ringed eyes when he entered.

“You must be Barnes,” she said, her English heavily accented. “I am Wanda. They have asked me to look into your mind, to prove you do not mean harm to Steve.”

“You’re the Scarlet Witch,” Bucky said, awed. He’d seen her on a few news casts, and had been impressed with her powers.

“And you are Steve’s… Bucky.” Her brow creased as scarlet flared around her hands. “You are from this time, and yet not. I do not understand.” Bucky felt the strangest sensation, as if someone were shifting around inside of his mind. “You are two people, but both of those people are the same. James Barnes…” Something went _SNAP_ in his brain, and memories not his own flooded in.

_Saving Steve from bullies in an ally. Sitting on the docks, watching the big ships come in. Sketchbooks filled with drawings. Waiting in line for medicine, hoping he_ _’d make it back in time. More ally fights. Nights staying up watching Steve until the fever broke. Days at the stadium, watching the Dodgers play. Art class. The war. Training with Steve. Leaving. Fighting. Missing Steve. Capture. Steve coming to rescue him. Fighting together. The train. He hangs on, praying, as the world rushes by so far beneath them. Steve reaches for his hand. The metal snaps. Falling. Falling. Falling._

His eyes snapped open and Wanda staggered back, hands flying to her head. Natasha’s gun came out, pointed at his heart.

“No,” Wanda put out a hand, pressing Natasha’s arms down until the gun pointed at the floor. “No. I understand now.” She smiled at him. “You have been given a second chance. Not many are this lucky.”

“What… what _was_ that?” Bucky demanded, shaken. It was one thing to have dreams that _might_ be somebody else’s memories. It was another thing entirely to have someone else dig around in his mind and bring up those memories as if they were his own. But they weren’t his. They couldn’t be. How could he have memories of growing up both twenty-five and ninety-five years ago? And yet… that impossible thought again. Didn’t it explain everything? Even if it was insane.

“You are James Barnes,” Wanda stated.

“Yeah…” Bucky frowned, and noticed Natasha looking just as confused as he felt.

“I mean, you are the same James Barnes that fought with Steve during the war. You have been reborn. He has been reborn,” she told Natasha. “I do not know why, beyond that it is because of Steve.”

“I should be surprised,” Natasha said, putting her gun away. “But with all the strange shit we’ve seen, this actually sort of makes sense.”

“Not to me!” Bucky protested. Wanda laughed.

“But it does. You believe me, even as you try not to. It is who you are, who you have always been. You just need time to accept it.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m me. _Just_ me. I’m not anybody’s reincarnation.” Even as he said it, he knew it to be a lie. It all made too much sense, the dreams, the man in the mirror, the way he felt like he knew Steve better than even two months with somebody could explain. But if he was just that Bucky’s reincarnation… then what did that mean? He was just a shadow from another time?

“You are who you have always been,” Wanda told him. “You do not truly believe that having the memories of the past James Barnes means you are simply a shadow of him, do you?”

“I… hell.” Bucky saw a chair, and sat down in it, hard.

“Go see Steve,” the woman told him. “When you are ready, I can help you make sense of these memories.”

“I…” Bucky shook his head to clear it. “This is really unbelievable, you know that, right?”

“No more so than a man who can lift a car with one hand, and yet you do not disbelieve that Steve can do that, do you?” Wanda asked. When he didn’t answer, she turned to Natasha and Stark. “You asked me to be sure he would not hurt Steve. My evaluation is that he will not.”

“What do we tell Steve?” Stark asked. “He’s not gonna like it if we keep this from him.”

“Then we tell him,” Natasha said. “Once he’s out of the hospital, so he can go hit things until he feels better.”

“Better get a few new punching bags for the gym,” Bucky suggested with a dry laugh. “I think I might need to join him.”

“Tony,” another voice came from the hallway, and they all turned to see another man - one Bucky recognized from the news as Thor - enter the room. “Is Sergeant Barnes cleared? Steve has been asking to see him.”

 

It was supremely surreal, walking through the hallways of the hospital in the company of heroes. He was flanked by Iron Man and Thor, while Black Widow and Scarlet Witch followed behind, conversing softly. Stark kept glancing at him from the side, unnerving him with that dark, calculating gaze. Finally, when he’d caught him at it for the third time, Bucky snapped.

“What?” he asked. “Something on my face?”

“No,” Stark drawled, not breaking his stride. “It’s just not every day you see somebody come back from the dead.”

“I’m not back from the dead!” Bucky protested. “I’m just… I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I was born in 1989. I remember growing up with TV and gaming systems. I remember where I was when the twin towers fell… But I also remember where I was when World War II broke out. Growing up during the depression… And taking care of Steve since we were both little kids.” He didn’t realize he’d stopped walking, until he looked up and saw four Avengers standing around him.

“You are as Helgi Hjörvarðsson and his lover, the valkyrie Sváfa, who were reincarnated to be together as Helgi Hundingsbane and Sigrún,” Thor told him, as if this sort of thing happened every day. For all Bucky knew, on Asgard it did.

“But I’m not his lover!” Bucky protested, and Thor laughed.

“Perhaps not. But your souls are bound together, it is as plain to see as the color of your eyes. It need not be romance that binds you. It is enough that you care, and that once you died and gave up Valhalla to return to his side.”

“You can see that?” Bucky heard Tony ask, dimly registering the words as a worrying mix of emotions coursed through him. Elation - he and Steve were ‘bonded’, whatever that meant (but it sounded good)! Fear - how could he measure up to the old Bucky, the one who had grown up with Steve? Hope - Steve would stop looking at him with suspicion when he learned what the Scarlet Witch had seen. Worry - would Steve believe this? How _could_ he? Disbelief - how could this really be happening? Anger - why him? Why couldn’t he be his own person, not an extension of somebody else’s life? Joy - These were his memories, not hallucinations. He wasn’t crazy. And that thought, the one that said he was Steve’s Bucky, wasn’t so impossible after all.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked to see Wanda smiling at him. “You see? You believe. It is a start.”

A cough alerted them to someone standing in the door to a room just down the hall. “This a private party, or can anyone join?” the new man asked. “’Cause I’ve got a guy in here who’s just about to get out of bed and come looking for your man there,” he nodded at Bucky, “if he doesn’t get to see he’s alright in the next five seconds.”

“Go to him,” Wanda told him, pushing gently at his back. “He needs to see you safe and well.”

Bucky went. At the door, the man - who he now recognized as Falcon - grinned and turned back to the room, where Bucky could just see Steve lying on a bed.

“Hey, Steve, you’ve got a visitor.”

Steve shifted, trying to see around the other man. Falcon obligingly stepped aside, allowing his friend to see Bucky, who gave a small wave.

“Steve.” Bucky was relieved. Steve smiled at him from the hospital bed, looking slightly the worse for wear, but already far better than when they had arrived at the hospital.

“Hey, Buck.”

“So…” Bucky’s eyes flicked to Falcon, and then to the man sitting in the chair by Steve’s head, who was unmistakably Bruce Banner. “Steve Smith, huh?”

Steve blushed. “I’m sorry. I would have told you, but we thought it was better to protect my identity.”

Bucky shrugged. “No problem. It makes sense. The less people who knew who you were, the less chance your location would be leaked.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. That was it.”

“So…” Bucky looked around at the room, which was filled with the highest of high-end tech. “I guess SHIELD is out taking care of the people who attacked you. And Stark says you’re going to be fine in a few days. I guess… uh… you won’t be needing me as a bodyguard anymore, huh?” Suddenly, talking to Steve was awkward. What did you do when you had confirmation that your friend, the guy you’d been more than half in love with for weeks, was actually your idol? Or that you were the reincarnation of his dead best friend/lover?

“No,” Steve said, sounding sad. “I suppose not.”

Bucky shifted, not knowing entirely what to say. “Agent Hill relieved me of duty. So… I guess I’ll be heading back to base soon.”

“Yeah…” Steve looked down at his hands, tugging at the bedsheets. “I suppose so.”

“Well, this is awkward,” Stark said from the doorway.

“Tony,” Steve glared at the man. “Leave him alone. He’s had a hard day.”

“Is that what you call it?” Bucky asked, and Steve grinned at him.

“Well, it’s not the worst day I’ve ever had, so, yeah, I suppose that is what I’d call it.”

“Fair enough,” Bucky shrugged, suddenly feeling better. “I brought you some clothes, in case you need them.”

“Thanks,” Steve smiled and then yawned. “I, ah, I guess you have questions, huh?”

Bucky thought about it, then shrugged. “Nothing pressing. But, uh, you are alright, yeah? I mean, Stark said, but…”

“Yep,” Steve said. “I’ve had far worse. But what about you?” He was leaning forward now, eyes ranging over Bucky’s body, pausing on the places where bandages were obvious under his shirt. The worry in his face touched Bucky, even as he rushed to reassure him.

“I’m fine. Or, I will be. It was just a few bullets, I’ve had far worse.” He shared a grin with Steve as he echoed his words. “And I told you, I’m enhanced. It’d take more than that to kill me.”

Steve frowned at that, and Bucky took a moment to take in the sight of his face without the fake scarring or bandages. There was a small mark where the bullet must have gone in, but otherwise it was remarkably clear and smooth. A little wrinkle creased between his eyes when he frowned, and Bucky found himself remembering that look from before. (Before his death? Before the war? Both? This jumble of old-new memories in his head was confusing.)

“I remember you said that. How’d it happen? I thought SHIELD was supposed to keep track of enhanced.”

“Well,” Bucky took the other seat by Steve’s head, shifting it so his friend wouldn’t have to move too much to look at him. “Remember how I told you about my arm?”

“Your weapon blew up on you, right?” Steve asked, eyes flicking to the place under his shirt where metal joined to flesh.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed. “Well, a normal human body wouldn’t be able to keep up under this sort of tech. The implants alone might have killed me. So when SHIELD stepped in, they gave me the serum to make it work. I’m on a registry or something, I think. At least, a lot of the big brass knows. They sure lined up to give me more interesting jobs once I got back out in the field.”

“I checked the lists when Hill told me she’d hired him,” Natasha said, startling them both and reminding Bucky that he and Steve weren’t the only ones in the room. “He’s been tagged by SHIELD and the Army. I was impressed, they’ve sent him on some things they wouldn’t even send us out for.”

“You all are too high-profile,” Bucky told her. “You go in, and everyone knows who you are. I can be in and out, and nobody even knows. Like a ghost.”

“Useful,” Natasha observed.

“How long have you been doing covert missions?” Steve asked.

“Hmm…” Bucky paused, mentally counting up the years. “Six years or so? It all kind of blends together after a while.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something else, but several phones sounded at the same time.

“That’s Clint,” Natasha said, having been the first one to get to her phone. “He and Vision found the attackers. They’re calling us in. Possible Code Green.” The last was spoken with a significant look at Bruce Banner, who sighed and stood.

“Somebody should stay behind with Steve, in case they try something else,” Banner said, going for his bag.

“I’ll stay,” Bucky offered automatically. “I mean, I know I’m not actually one of you, and… well, I’m not sure if I’m still his bodyguard or anything, and I’m not supposed to be here, but…” he squirmed, uncomfortable under the eyes of all but two of the Avengers.

“Good man,” Stark said, tossing him a phone. “We’ll call you if we need you.”

“Tony…” Natasha warned, frowning.

“He’ll be fine,” Stark told her, already halfway out the door. “Right, Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding surprised. And then again, more certain, “Yeah. I trust him.”

 

“I trust him.” The words came out of his mouth almost of their own volition. And the scary thing was, they didn’t really surprise him. This agent, this man, _Bucky_ , he’d risked his life to save him today. He’d been shot at. Nearly killed. And still he’d been more concerned about Steve than about himself. It was exactly how his Bucky would have acted, and somehow it was enough. Steve couldn’t hold onto the suspicions he’d once harbored about this man. And this man… from the minute he’d woken up in the hospital, Steve had been worried about Bucky. Was he alright? What had happened after he passed out? Where was he? How badly was he wounded? The thoughts had been spiraling in his head, even after Tony reassured him he was fine. He hadn’t felt calm until Sam had stepped aside and he’d seen Bucky standing in the door with that same uncertain, worried, happy-to-see-him grin his Bucky had always had. Then the tension had just melted away, and he _knew_. Bucky was fine. _Bucky_ was fine. He didn’t understand. It made no sense. But that secret hope he’d been trying so hard to ignore sprung to mind, and it seemed less ridiculous somehow.

That thought kept coming back to mind as Bucky came to sit beside him. How he moved, his laugh, the little lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, it was so close to what he remembered. Not exact, but close. As if somebody had taken his Bucky and given him a whole other life, little joys and hurts that Steve didn’t know about, the big and small impacts of life that change you a little no matter how hard you try. If his Bucky had gone through what this one had, would he have looked and acted the same way? It was an impossible thought. But if life had taught him anything, it was that impossible was only a word.

“Steve?” Bucky was looking at him, and he realized he’d spaced out for a moment. He shook his head to clear it.

“I trust him,” Steve repeated. “You all go on, we’ll be fine here.”

“I don’t like it,” Natasha said, and Steve knew she was just being careful for him, but it annoyed him just the same. “I should stay. He’s not even cleared to be here right now. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone, not when-”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Steve insisted, resisting the urge to grit his teeth. He was giving an order, not a suggestion. “Go.”

“I- I can head out,” Bucky offered, and Steve felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. Bucky couldn’t leave him. Not again.

“No,” he said, a little more sharply than he meant it, and Bucky’s eyes widened. “No,” he said again, this time looking directly at his friend. “Stay. Please?” That last came out more pleading than he wanted, and Bucky’s face softened, the corners of his lips lifting up in a fond smile.

“Alright, Punk. I’ll stay.”

Steve gasped, biting the sound back so the others wouldn’t notice and turning it into a cough. Nobody knew about how Bucky always called him a punk, just like nobody knew about how he always called Bucky a jerk. That had always just been between them. And the way this Bucky said it… that impossible thought was growing stronger.

“Steve?” Bucky was half out of his chair, reaching for him when Steve ended the cough, the look of alarm on his face making Steve feel guilty for causing it.

“I’m alright,” he reassured him. “Really.” Bucky relaxed, falling back into his chair.

“Oh, good.”

“Are we going or what?” Tony called from the door, tapping his foot for added emphasis. “Barton won’t wait forever, and I’d hate to have to explain to the director that we let him go in alone because we were arguing over Steve’s babysitter.”

“We’re going,” Sam said, grabbing Natasha’s arm. “Steve, stay safe.”

As they left, Wanda, who had quietly worked her way into the room while they had been talking, came to the foot of his bed.

“It is not an impossible thought,” she said, and smiled. Steve didn’t even have to ask her what she meant. He knew.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Taken from Wikipedia - Reincarnation also appears in Norse mythology, in the Poetic Edda. The editor of the Poetic Edda says that Helgi Hjörvarðsson and his mistress, the valkyrie Sváfa, whose love story is told in the poem Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, were reborn as Helgi Hundingsbane and the valkyrie Sigrún. Helgi and Sigrún's love story is the matter of a part of the Völsunga saga and the lays Helgakviða Hundingsbana I and II. They were reborn a second time as Helgi Haddingjaskati and the valkyrie Kára, but unfortunately their story, Káruljóð, only survives in a probably modified form in the Hrómundar saga Gripssonar.  
> The belief in reincarnation may have been commonplace among the Norse since the annotator of the Poetic Edda wrote that people formerly used to believe in it


	6. Act 6

_He could see Steve clearly, sitting in an empty, bombed-out bar, drinking bottle after bottle of alcohol that would do nothing to ease his pain. He'd been crying and was now at the point where you've cried all you can, and you know it should make you feel better, but doesn't. Bucky ached to go to him, to hold him close and tell him it would be alright, but the thing was, he didn't know if it would be. Steve would be alright without him, but there was still a war to win, and now Steve was at less than his best._

_"You were important to him," a voice said, and Bucky was aware of a presence at his side, warm, comforting. "More than any other person."  
"Yeah," Bucky acknowledged. "I know. Me too. Nobody could ever matter more than him."_

_"He has a hard road ahead of him," the presence said, focusing on the image of Steve in the wide pool before them. "A very hard road." It's words were tinged with regret._

_"But he'll be okay, right?" Bucky asked. "He'll win and go off with Peggy and have a bunch of kids like he deserves."_

_"No," the presence told him, voice full of sorrow. "He will not return from this war."_

_"What?" Bucky froze, staring at the image of Steve, now well into his fifth bottle of hard liquor. "He... But he has to. It's what he deserves. He's already given so much, you can't- they can't ask him for more. They can't take his life."_

_"His path is set," the presence declared. The image in the pool rippled and changed, until it showed Steve fighting inside a Hydra base. "Steve Rogers will confront the Red Skull in his final lair." The image moved, following Steve onto a gigantic aircraft, where he fought the Red Skull for control of a glowing blue cube. "He will defeat his enemy." The Skull took hold of the cube and disintegrated in a flash of light. "And then, he will have to choose. Save himself, or hundreds of lives that would end should the plane reach land." In the pool, Steve sat at the controls of the plane, steering it into a sharp dive._

_"He'll choose them. He always does." It was a theme with Steve, one that always broke Bucky's heart. When given the choice between others being harmed or himself, his little idiot would choose to sacrifice himself every time._

_The presence seemed to agree, or at least Bucky felt like it did._

_“I’ve got to help him,” Bucky told it. “I can’t just let him die.”_

_“You are dead,” the presence reminded him. “Rest. This path is set already, you cannot change it.”_

_Rage filled him at the thought. Leave Steve to his fate? To die alone, with not even a friendly face to accompany him into the next world?_ _“_ **_I don_ ** **_’t care_ ** _,_ _” Bucky almost shouted. “Maybe I can’t change it, but I can try!”_

_“The dead cannot change the path of the living. You have walked your path, it is time to go to your reward.”_

_“Reward?” Bucky laughed.“You think I want anything else but to be with him? So what if I can’t change it. At least I can be there. Remind him that he isn’t alone.”_

_“But,” the presence insisted, “you would not go on to Heaven.”_

_“It’s not Heaven if he ain’t there,” Bucky told it, and it was true. Without Steve’s warmth and light, even paradise could not compare to the tiny apartment in Brooklyn where he and Steve lived together._

_“You would give up your afterlife? Knowing that you will not be able to change the outcome?” the presence asked. Bucky nodded._

_“Yes. If my being there can make it just a little bit easier on him, that’s worth it.”_

_“I see.” The presence thought for a moment, then seemed to reach some sort of conclusion. “There might be a way. But it will be painful.”_

_“I don’t care. Whatever it takes,” Bucky told it, and he meant it._

_“We cannot return you to life. However, you can be reborn into a new body,” the presence said._

_“But if I’m in a new body, how will he know it’s me?” Bucky asked._

_“There is a connection between you two. Some might call it a red string of fate, binding you together. No matter who you become, you will always be drawn to each other,” the presence told him._

_“But… will I be in time to reach him before the end of the war?” Bucky already knew he and Steve were bound together. It was how it had always been, from the day they met. Being together just felt right, in a way nothing else did._

_“No,” the presence said. “But you will be there when he awakens from the ice. You will help him learn a new time, and protect him from evil that would destroy him.”_

_“But you said he was going to die,” Bucky told it._

_“I said he would not return from this war. He will crash the plane into the ice, and lie frozen for almost seventy years. When he wakes, everything will be different. He will need you more than ever.”_

_“Then do it,” Bucky said. “Whatever it takes to send me to him. Do it.”_

_“You agree, no matter how painful it may be, no matter what must happen to put you in his path?” the presence asked._

_“I agree, dammit. Just do it!” Bucky demanded. The presence broadcast laughter and acceptance, and began to grow brighter and brighter, until the light blinded Bucky and encompassed the whole world. And then it went out, leaving him in darkness._

 

“What?!” Bucky startled awake, only to find Steve looking at him with a fond smile.

“Nightmare?” Steve asked, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah…. Something like that, anyway.” The dream was fading away already, leaving him with barely an impression of color and sound. He shook his head to clear it, then looked around the room. He’d fallen asleep in the chair next to Steve’s hospital bed, somehow ending up half out of the seat. His side ached where he’d taken those bullets only the day before, but not nearly as bad as it would have before he’d been enhanced.

“I suppose anybody would have nightmares after a day like that,” Steve observed, and Bucky took a moment to take in how much better he looked after just a few hours of sleep.

“I guess,” he shrugged. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Steve assure him. “You?”

Bucky made a show of poking at his bandages and looking in surprise at the wounds, drawing a laugh from Steve. “You know me,” he said when the laughter faded. “I’m always fine.”

“Not always,” Steve said, and a haunted look crossed his face, eyes staring into the distance. It was a look Bucky recognized from the past few weeks, the one Steve got when he was thinking about the person he lost. Probably the other Bucky. Past Bucky. At some point Bucky was going to need to figure out how to refer to his past self. And just in general work out how to think about the whole thing all together. Right now, erasing that look off of Steve’s face was more important.

“Hey, Steve, look at me,” Bucky said, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s shoulder. “Stevie, I’m here. Right here. I ain’t leaving.”

Steve’s eyes shifted and focused on his face, and Bucky felt a jolt in his stomach and a warmth spreading through him when their eyes met. It was a familiar feeling, for all he hadn’t let himself consider it when he was officially Steve’s bodyguard. But he wasn’t Steve’s bodyguard anymore.

“You are, aren’t you?” Steve asked, voice soft and considering, filled with a growing hope and wonder. “You’re really here.”

“Sure, Punk,” Bucky told him. “Right here.” He wasn’t really sure what made him call Steve ‘Punk’, but it felt right, like something past-Bucky had done, and the widening of Steve’s eyes confirmed it for him.

“I…” Steve frowned, eyes dropping to the side, where he focused in on Bucky’s metal arm. “Sorry, I forgot what I was going to say.”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky saw through that lie. Steve hadn’t forgotten, he’d simply thought better of it. Probably because he was second-guessing himself. Bucky had to do something, or Steve would retreat back behind a wall of suspicion and disbelief. This whole thing was insane, impossible, and yet Bucky believed it. He believed it, and he needed Steve to believe it too.

“So, ah…” Steve was pulling back, shifting away from Bucky.

“I can guess what you were about to say,” Bucky said quickly, and Steve paused, confused.

“You were going to say,” Bucky continued, “something about how this is impossible and you don’t know if you can believe it, am I right?”

“What?”

“This. Me. Us.” Bucky gestured from Steve to himself. “The thought that I’m not just some random bodyguard that happens to share a name with a dead man from your past. It’s crazy.”

“I… yeah. How…?” Steve was speechless, frowning at Bucky as he tried to wrap his mind around the whole situation.

“How do I know you were thinking that?” Bucky asked, and received a nod in return. “Because I was thinking the same thing. It’s impossible. But it’s also true.”

“I want to believe you, but…” Steve trailed off, and Bucky’s heart leapt. He _knew_ that expression. That tone of voice. Memory from another time told him that when Steve looked and sounded like that, he was more than halfway towards giving in.

“Look,” Bucky told him, “I know it’s nuts. I thought I was going crazy for most of the past month, getting all these weird dreams and memories that couldn’t be mine. Only they are. They are mine. I… I don’t really understand it all just yet. And I’ll be honest, part of me still thinks I’m going to wake up at any time now because this sort of thing just doesn’t happen. But… your friends say it’s not as unbelievable as we think, and there’s a whole lot I just can’t explain any other way.”

“I… memories?” Steve asked, leaning forward, and Bucky knew how to prove his claim.

“Yeah,” he said. “Memories. I mean, I’ve had these dreams since I was a kid, and as far as I know they’re all pretty accurate, but lately it’s not just been while I’m asleep. Just little things, like…” he searched for a memory, and one obediently came to mind. “You and me, we’d go down the street for ice-cream in the summer, if we had a little extra money. And you’d always try and convince me to get peanuts on mine because I like them, even though you couldn’t have them because they made you sick.” Steve’s eyes widened as he recited the memory, and Bucky noticed his hands gripping the sides of the bed tight enough to bend the metal. But he didn’t look like he disbelieved what Bucky was saying.

“That’s true,” Steve admitted, almost reluctantly. “I didn’t want you to miss out just because of me.”

Bucky laughed, relieved. “And I wasn’t missing out, I didn’t care either way about the peanuts. It was eating the ice cream with you that I liked best.”

 

“It was eating the ice cream with you that I liked best,” Bucky told him, and Steve felt his heart swell. Warm fondness washed over him, and he wanted nothing more than to take Bucky into his arms right then and there. But this was insane. It couldn’t possibly be real. Bucky coming back? It was too good to be true, and if life had taught Steve anything it was that good things didn’t just happen. Anything that looked too good to be true usually came with a price he would have to pay sooner or later. Believing Bucky had come back meant opening up the possibility of losing him again, or something worse. He’d been ready to believe last night, when pain and worry combined with adrenaline to make it seem possible. It had felt right. It still did. But it couldn’t truly be real. It was only an impossible thought.

He sighed, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t see the earnest look on Bucky’s face. _Steve, you_ _’re an idiot_ , he told himself, not entirely certain whether he was an idiot because he didn’t believe it, or because he did.

“Steve.” Bucky grabbed his hands, one hand rough and warm, the other smooth metal. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t believe it.”

Steve opened his eyes and met Bucky’s gaze. His eyes were the same dark blue Steve remembered, always filled with emotion. “I…” he couldn’t say it. In the face of those achingly familiar eyes, he could not continue to deny that this man didn’t just look and act like his Bucky. He _was_ his Bucky, come back to him. It was, as Wanda had said, not such an impossible thought. And with that thought, the last of his resistance melted away. This, Bucky, was real.

“God, _Bucky_ ,” he choked, the words sticking in his suddenly tight throat. And then there were arms around him, holding him tight, and he reached out, pulling Bucky closer until he slid off the chair and onto the bed. Warmth he never thought he would feel again coursed through him, guiding him through half-forgotten movements until their lips met.

 

Bucky hadn’t been prepared for Steve to grab him and pull him onto the bed, but he wasn’t going to protest, especially not when it brought him closer to Steve. There was a desperation in Steve’s movements that tore at his heart, urging him to hold tighter. He didn’t know if it was instinct or old memories that guided him, but he knew what Steve needed. He shifted, moving his hands to frame Steve’s face. God he was beautiful. He surged forward, meeting Steve halfway, their lips coming together in a rush of heat and need. Lights exploded behind his closed eyes, memories from that other life passing through his mind in quick succession, months of quick, stolen kisses where no one would see, nights in a shared tent, limbs tangled together with cold weather as an excuse. But this was no secret kiss, and he took his time, tasting Steve, learning him, as Steve’s hands mapped his back and found the spots he liked best to be held. It both was and was not a first kiss, but whatever it was, it was better than anything Bucky had ever experienced.

 

They broke apart some time later, Bucky shifting until he lay next to Steve instead of on top of him. Steve’s eyes remained closed, his head back against the pillow.

“This is all a dream,” he said quietly. “I’m going to open my eyes and it’ll be just after I got shot.”

“You could be dead,” Bucky suggested helpfully, burrowing in against Steve’s side. “This could be your afterlife.”

“I’ll take it,” Steve told him seriously. “I’d take anything, if it meant having you back.”

Bucky wrapped one arm around Steve’s chest and pillowed his head on his shoulder. “You’ve got me,” he said. “Now and always.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, okay, that was an intense writing experience. Thanks for sticking with me and reading the whole thing! I spent a lot of time on it, and enjoyed every last minute of it (even the stressful will-I-get-it-done ones!), so I hope you enjoyed reading it even a tiny little bit as much as I did writing it. I'd love to hear what you think, and I'm sure my wonderful artists would be more than happy to hear as well. Please support them, they are fantastic! You are beautiful people! Thanks for reading!


End file.
